The Making of the SCU & A Makeshift Family
by LouiseKurylo
Summary: <html><head></head>How did the SCU start out? How did a motley set of individuals become a tightly-knit team and makeshift family? (By necessity Jane doesn't appear till chapter 5 since this story takes it back to the formation of Lisbon's team and the gradual development of the team's bonding. Promise it will be interesting anyhow!)</html>
1. Chapter 1 - New Hires

**Chapter 1 - New Hires**

Kimball Cho pulled into the California Bureau of Investigation lot, wrenched up the parking brake, slammed the door, and briskly walked to the entrance. Yet again, Sacramento's unpredictable traffic had held him up. He moved from SanFran a month ago. Not knowing the city, he rented an apartment close to the CBI as the bird flies. Unfortunately, _he_ didn't fly and hadn't known he'd be braving the city's worst morning traffic. Till his lease was up, he was stuck. He'd be damned if being late was the reputation he wanted to establish.

The Spanish revival elevator doors chimed and opened on the 5th floor, home of the Serious Crimes Unit. A cacophony greeted him. The century-old building was being renovated even as the CBI moved in and started using the space. It would be classy and functional once the work was done. Now, however, it was crowded, dusty and disorganized. The lack of walls didn't help with the noise and privacy was a distant dream. A Federal grant to restore the historical building was too good for the state to pass up, but Cho thought it poor economizing. The number crunchers who considered it a worthwhile tradeoff clearly had never worked in a construction zone themselves.

A few quick paces and Cho was seated at his desk just as the big, old-fashioned wall clock showed 8 a.m. He opened the cold case file he was working on and dug in.

"See you around, Haffner," a crisp female voice called out. It emanated from a makeshift office created from filing cabinets and fabric-covered wood-frame dividers. Cho glanced up and saw the handsome late-30's senior agent for the Organized Crime Unit walking away.

Eighteen months ago Virgil Minelli left the San Francisco Police Department to take the job of Director over all CBI investigative units. Minelli quickly recruited rising star Teresa Lisbon from the SFPD to head a new Serious Crimes Unit. A budget freeze forced Lisbon to spend her first six months working as an agent under Raymond Haffner. The new budget year finally let Minelli move her into the senior agent position over the SCU. Lisbon immediately started recruiting her team. Former SFPD colleague Cho was her first hire for the four agent positions that typically constituted a team. Her second team member started today.

Cho looked up as the quick, determined tread announced Lisbon's approach. "Boss?"

"Cho. Wayne Rigsby will be up soon as he's done with Human Resources." She glanced at her watch. "In about 30 minutes. Show him around, get him set up, and start him on the cold case we're working. We'll meet when I'm done with Minelli."

"Yes, Boss." She left for her meeting.

~.~.~.~.~

"Agent Cho?"

Cho glanced up, then looked up some more at the man standing by his desk: Caucasian, late 20's, 6'4", 220, brown hair, blue eyes, closely trimmed goatee, black dress pants, white shirt, black leather jacket in lieu of a suit jacket. "Yeah?"

"Wayne Rigsby, new agent in the Serious Crimes Unit. I, uh–"

Cho stood and extended his hand. "Agent Kimball Cho. Choose any desk. I'll show you around."

Rigsby chose a desk near Cho's, set down his things, and trailed the Asian agent as he showed him around: Lisbon's "office," interrogation rooms, washrooms, break area, office supply storeroom, and general locations of the other units on the floor.

"Emergency exits?" As impassive as Cho was, Rigsby still got an impression of surprise. "I specialized in arson in the San Diego PD. Occupational hazard."

Returning to the bullpen, "Get supplies for your desk. Then start on this cold case file till Lisbon's back from Minelli." At Rigsby's questioning look he added, "Minelli's the director over all CBI investigative units. Boss's boss."

"Thanks."

~.~.~.~.~

Lisbon returned and dumped an armful of files on her desk. "Cho, Rigsby, in here," she ordered brusquely. She opened her mouth, shook her head slightly and changed gears. "Rigsby, welcome to the CBI, to the Serious Crimes Unit." She managed a smile. "All set up with HR?" He nodded. "Cho show you around?" Rigsby nodded again. Cho realized Rigsby found Lisbon intimidating and suppressed a smile. Rigsby was double her weight and towered over her by a foot.

"Sit." Lisbon sat down at her desk and motioned them to the office chairs facing her. "We've been reviewing cold cases for a month. We won't get fresh cases as long as we're short staffed. –The SCU needs at least four agents, me included." They waited silently as she dug out several files from the bottom of the stack. "Here's the rub. This year's budget is better, but still tight. The hiring freeze keeps me from hiring into my other two positions. We either find an unassigned agent already in the CBI. Or we keep working cold cases. Opinion?"

Cho and Rigsby exchanged glances. Cho spoke, "I'd rather work new cases." Rigsby nodded. "What are the choices?" She put five file folders in front of them.

"Here are the files for the five available agents. I want you to have a hand in who you'll work with. Pretend you haven't seen these as they're confidential."

"Thanks."

Rigsby ventured, "Anyone you're leaning toward, Senior Agent Lisbon?"

"'Lisbon,'" she corrected. "Yes, but I want your take. We'll meet after lunch. Lock these in your desks when you're not reading them."

All three rose. Lisbon left for the elevator. Cho and Rigsby went back to their desks, splitting the folders.

At noon Cho stood. "Lunch?"

The tall man rose instantly. "Yeah." They shoved the files in their desk drawers and locked them, then took the elevator to the ground-floor cafeteria.

Cho and Rigsby put their trays on the table and started in on their lunches.

"San Diego PD. Arson. How'd you become a cop?"

"Always hated criminals." Cho's thoughts flicked to the info about a 'Steven Rigsby' he'd found. "I wanted to be on the other side, putting them away. Got a scholarship for criminal justice majors and worked part time through college." Rigsby took a bite of his second sandwich. "Worked three years as a cop after I got out of the academy. Made detective a year ago."

"Why arson?"

"Liked chemistry. Figured it'd be an edge in getting hired. You?"

"Army, two tours in Iraq. Second as a Ranger. Worked for the SFPD while taking college courses at night. Two years as a cop, three more as a detective. Lisbon hired me a month ago."

"So you, uh, worked with Lisbon in the SFPD?"

"Yeah."

Cho didn't elaborate. Rigsby drank a pint of milk straight from the carton. While he was opening the second he decided to ask about their immediate task. "Who do you like of the five we're s'posed to choose from?"

"No one."

"Why?"

Seeing a chance to get a feel for his new teammate, Cho countered, "What's your take?"

Rigsby slid his tray to the side. "Vargas is a hothead. Several write-ups. Connley is old, a couple years from retirement. Dunno if there's anything else. Karlson's had bad reviews, doesn't seem to have much on the ball. Hannigan was repeatedly turned down for promotion, no explanation why. Krause was injured and seems like he never fully recovered. Every couple months he's out on medical leave." Rigsby finished his brownie. "You?"

"Same, but I've heard some scuttlebutt. Word is one more complaint and Vargas is history. Connley's a short timer. Does only enough to keep from getting canned till he gets his pension. I gave Karlson tips on a case transferred from SFPD. He's just stupid. Don't know Krause, but repeated medical leave isn't a good sign. Hannigan–" Cho flashed back to a conversation overheard in the men's room._ '...tight-ass ball‑buster if you ask me.' 'Hear who she hired? Frank saw the scars where he got rid of gang insignia. They let anyone in these days.' _ "–Hannigan's old school. Was turned down for Lisbon's job."

Rigsby gave a low whistle. "So no obvious pick. Of the five, who would you choose?"

Cho became fractionally more grim, "Hannigan, if I have to."

"Better than staying benched?"

Reluctantly, " Yes."

~.~.~.~.~

The meeting took only fifteen minutes. Rigsby noticed that, like Cho, Lisbon asked his take before revealing her own thinking. _Mark of a good detective._ Because he and Cho had already talked, he wasn't as apprehensive of his sharp, prickly boss as he otherwise would have been. They quickly agreed on Hannigan. It was a process of elimination rather than a positive choice.

"Rigsby, be sure to read the Methods and Procedures and Employee manuals soon. Both are on-line. The SCU is new. Let's avoid making stupid mistakes."

"Will do, Boss." Rigsby left.

Cho hung back.

"Something more, Cho?"

Conscious that the "walls" afforded no privacy, he leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Boss, don't know if you've heard the scuttlebutt. Hannigan was turned down for your job. He isn't a big equal opportunity supporter."

"That a problem for you, Cho?"

"No. So long as he pulls his weight."

She softened. "I appreciate the heads up, but I know what I'm getting. We need another agent to get out in the field. So long as Hannigan does his job, I'll make it work. It's not a social club."

"Okay." He rose to leave.

"Cho – thanks."

Quitting time, Rigsby left for his inexpensive motel room. He was cheered by Cho's offer to help him apartment hunt on the weekend and decided Cho's deadpan expression was normal rather than standoffish. Still, Cho wasn't much for idle conversation. _Maybe he'll help me move in when I get my stuff here._ Rigsby was cautiously optimistic. His contacts in SFPD had spoken well of Lisbon. Frankly, he had been surprised when she offered him the job. He knew he was a damn good arson investigator, but he hadn't been at the top of his class at the academy. He wondered if she knew about the other stuff, then mentally kicked himself. Any detective worth his salt would do a background check before hiring someone. The Rigsby name _had_ to have come up. _But she hired me anyway._ Being a CBI agent was his big break and he was determined not to screw it up. Rigsby sighed and relaxed. _No gaffes on my first day. Lisbon and Cho seem sharp, smart. Wonder how Hannigan will work out. Glad we'll be getting cases, anyhow._


	2. Chapter 2 - New Cases

**Chapter 2: New Cases**

**Lisbon's Team**

It was Friday. They'd spent the week investigating the SCU's first fresh case, a murder in a small town three hours away. They were ready to make two simultaneous arrests to avoid tipping anyone off in time to flee.

Cho pulled the SUV into a parking space at the last expressway rest stop before their destination. He glanced over at his teammate and frowned in disgust. _Cracker crumbs, candy wrappers, empty Big Gulp cups, and foil from a convenience store hot dog. The guy's a walking garbage dump._

Rigsby caught his glance and muttered, "Long drive and we didn't stop for lunch." He fished the plastic bag from the back seat and started collecting the trash. "Sorry."

Cho pressed his lips together, then minutely tilted his head sideways. "Better if trash went directly in the bag."

Rigsby brightened. Another clue on getting along with his acerbic – _or is it ascetic?_ – new colleague. "Will do." Eager to change the subject, "Ford and Lanton. Wanna bet on who's the murderer and who's the thief?"

"Pass." He glanced at his side view mirror, relieved as Lisbon and Hannigan pulled up and parked nearby in separate vehicles. "Let's go."

Early afternoon, the rest stop was deserted. The four CBI detectives gathered around the SUV Lisbon was driving.

"Hannigan, Rigsby, you've got Lanton. Cho and I will take Ford. One of them emptied the safe. The other stumbled on the bound and gagged owner afterward and murdered him on a grudge. Here's the search warrant for Lanton," she said, handing it to Hannigan as lead agent based on age and CBI tenure. "Call when you've made the arrest."

"Got it, Boss," Hannigan answered for both, taking the warrant. "Rigsby, we drive separate, 'kay?" Hannigan heavily walked off to his car, not waiting for Rigsby's reply. Rigsby caught the keys Cho tossed him and hurried to follow Hannigan's car with the SUV. Cho and Lisbon left shortly in the other SUV.

~.~.~.~.~

It was 2 p.m. Rigsby had Lanton by the arm, wrists cuffed behind him. They were standing outside Lanton's house by the SUV. Rigsby had opened the vehicle's doors to cool it off before starting the long drive back to the CBI. They hadn't recovered any money, just a few paper bands used to secure counted bundles of $20's. A thorough search of the house hadn't turned up any other incriminating evidence. Hannigan was talking on his cell out of hearing. He finished and snapped his flip phone shut. Rigsby firmly pushed Lanton into the back seat and closed the doors, safety lock engaged so Lanton couldn't get out.

"They got Ford, found the murder weapon. Boss says Lanton's cleared." Hannigan smirked just a little.

Rigsby frowned in confusion. "Cleared? Really? Uh, if he's cleared, do we just turn him loose?"

Hannigan looked at him with his chronic dyspeptic expression. "Boss said she's cleared him," he confirmed. "–Look, I gotta go. Lisbon okay'd it since the case is wrapped up. I'm s'posed to meet someone a little farther north of here. Boss's gotta meet with Minelli so you and Cho drive back together."

Rigsby scratched the back of his neck. "Okay. See you Monday," he said to Hannigan's back as Hannigan walked away and quickly drove off.

Rigsby waited around a few minutes, then hauled Lanton back out of the SUV. He said, "You're cleared, Lanton. Guess I have to let you go." He moved to unlock the cuffs, then paused as the other CBI SUV pulled up. Cho got out, opened the back door and pulled a manacled Ford out. Lisbon drove off immediately. She already would be late for her meeting with Minelli and the SacPD.

Cho walked Ford over, arm firmly in his grip. Rigsby refocused on Lanton and unlocked his handcuffs as Cho put Ford in the back seat. Lanton looked around in disbelief, then edged away and started to run.

"Hey!" Ford yelled. "Where the hell's he going? The damn thief!"

Cho looked up to the other side of the SUV. "What the–" He sprinted after Lanton, tackled him, reached around and swore. His cuffs were on Ford. "Give me your cuffs." Rigsby hurried over, embarrassment and dread breaking across his face.

Cho pulled Lanton upright and half-walked, half-dragged him to the SUV. "Get in." Once in, "Turn around, hands to me." He growled, "Don't add resisting arrest to your woes." Lanton meekly let Cho re-cuff him with his hands in front. A steel loop bolted to the floor ensured he would be secured during the long drive to Sacramento. Rigsby did the same for Ford. Cho's glare cut through Rigsby like a laser. Cho got in the driver's seat. Rigsby handed him he keys and they drove off, not a word between them. The two suspects started to whine till Cho threatened to gag them unless they shut up. The silence was deafening.

A half-hour into the drive Cho finally asked, immense discipline keeping his tone neutral. "Why let him go?"

"Boss said he was cleared."

Cho scowled and huffed. "_Red tape_ was cleared with the locals. So we could take Lanton in for questioning. Who said let him go?"

Rigsby opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. He swallowed. "I- No one. I got it wrong." _Played by that asshole. She'll have my badge for this. Better start looking again._

Cho noted the fleeting expression of betrayal. Then Rigsby's face hardened into anger and shame that remained throughout the drive.

Cho had two-and-a-half more hours to think. _Dammit. Joined the Rangers to get away from the lazy and the stupid in the Army. Didn't expect to find that in the CBI. Boss thinks Hannigan's worth the trouble. Jury's out. And now there's Wayne Doofus Rigsby. Why the hell would he release a suspect? _An occasional flicker of expression was the only clue that he was mulling over the events.

They got to the CBI just after the end of the work day. Lanton and Ford were put in separate interrogation rooms. Cho handled the interrogations. Rigsby observed behind the one-way glass, his first opportunity to see Cho work. Cho quickly extracted confessions with the information and evidence they had. Rigsby was impressed. And further embarrassed. Cho added the interrogation tapes to the case evidence. He turned the two over to the CBI guards who would transport them to the county jail for induction into the justice system.

**Minelli, Lisbon and SacPD**

"...The case now cuts across jurisdictions. I understand SacPD wants to transfer it to the CBI," Minelli opened as Lisbon settled into her chair at the conference table. She'd bent her rule against speeding but was still a few minutes late.

"I was held up at a crime scene. Apologies." She nodded to the three men, already familiar with the SacPD contingent from occasional past collaborations.

SacPD Police Chief Jeffrey Franklin picked up from Minelli. "That's correct. There are ten victims so far, the last two near LA a few months ago. I hoped the latest would finally let us nail the bastard, but the leads petered out."

"Do you expect more outside the Sacramento area?"

"We just don't know. The LA murders aren't a good sign. He has murdered elsewhere before - Stockton, for instance. But LA is definitely a change. No reason to assume he'll stay around Sacramento anymore." He turned to his detective. "Elliott, you're lead on this case. Give us a summary."

"The murders started in 1995 and are sporadic, usually one or two a year. They all have the same MO–" He glanced around the table and they all nodded. Everyone was familiar with the MO in the high profile case so he skipped the details. "Other than almost all being women, there isn't much else in common. Never any forensic evidence, never any witnesses. The only time we found a connection to the victims was the LA murders - and _that_ was damned thin."

"Hardest kind of case," murmured Lisbon.

"Exactly," agreed Elliott. "Unfortunately our 'experience' with the case doesn't buy much."

Franklin spoke again. "Listen, Virgil. SacPD doesn't have the jurisdiction, isn't equipped to handle a serial killer who operates far away. This rightly belongs with the CBI."

Minelli tapped his pencil, expression giving nothing away. He finally sighed. "Wish I could disagree. The CBI will take the case. –Lisbon? Any questions?"

"I get to pick your brains, Elliott? And your team's?"

"'Course," he nodded.

"That's all then," she shrugged.

Franklin rose and shook hands with Minelli and Lisbon. "Thanks. I'll have the files shipped here – care of Lisbon?"

"Special Crimes Unit, fifth floor," she clarified.

"See you next week for poker, Jeff."

"Happy to take your money, Virgil."

Minelli waited till Franklin and Elliott filed out. He leaned back and grimaced. "You willing to tackle this, Lisbon?"

"Needs doing, Boss. I can keep working new cases, right?" she asked, a bit anxious.

Minelli waved his hand. "Yeah, yeah. The case's been around seven years, it's as cold as it gets." He leaned forward. "Lisbon, I'll be blunt. Four SacPD teams tried and failed. Other CBI unit leaders think it's an albatross."

Tightly, "I'm no Pollyanna. But I've gotta believe solid police work and elbow grease can make a difference. High risk, high reward."

"That it is," he said, grumpy as usual. "You know what McTeer was like. Next killing and this will be all over the news. Again. Lots of publicity, lots of political pressure." He leaned back and eyed her speculatively. "Lisbon – Teresa – that's one reason I recruited you. The CBI has too many unit leaders who play it safe. Usually someone more experienced would get this."

"Sir, the only thing I ask is you let me keep it till we crack the case." She unsuccessfully squelched a grin. "Getting my last position filled would help!"

"Lisbon, Lisbon," he shook his head in mock sadness. "The reality is no new hires till next budget year. I _promise_ you can fill all four positions then. –Hmm. How's Hannigan?"

She drew a deep breath. "Started last week, just wrapping up our first case with him. Old school but he's doing the work."

Minelli huffed. "Not fooling me, Lisbon. Hannigan's CBI record looks okay, but he has a history with SacPD. Too many banged up suspects. Too many arrests that didn't hold water in court. Tight leash, Lisbon."

"Yes, sir."

He flicked his wrist. "It's Friday night. Go enjoy your weekend."

**Lisbon, Cho and Rigsby**

Lisbon was back at the CBI building by 5:45. Cho was adding videotapes to the case evidence. Rigsby was at his desk. Hannigan's empty desk snagged her attention for a second till she remembered she'd given him permission to leave after the arrests.

Cho followed her into her makeshift office, followed hesitantly by Rigsby.

"Status?" she asked as they all sat down in her office.

Cho replied, "Ford and Lanton confessed. They're on their way to the county jail."

She smiled. "Good work. Anything else I need to know about?" Her eyes narrowed as Rigsby glanced nervously at Cho. _Looks like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. What?_

"No," Cho answered.

Rigsby just nodded his head and swallowed roughly.

"Take off, you two. We inherit a serial killer cold case from SacPD next week. We'll get new cases, too."

"Good." Cho waited a second, then left, trailed by Rigsby. Rigsby gathered his things and was gone after a few minutes.

Lisbon straightened her desk, then went for a cup of coffee, hoping it wasn't sludge by now, at the end of the day. Mug in hand, she paused at seeing Cho still at his desk and walked over.

He looked up as she paused. "Boss?"

"Something's eating you. What's up?" She caught a flicker of a frown, then it was gone.

"Nothing." He tilted his head the slightest bit. "Who did you talk to after we got Ford?"

"Hannigan." She could see a piece of puzzle fall into place for him.

Cho had heard Lisbon's side of the conversation. _She didn't tell Hannigan to turn Lanton loose. She said the red tape was cleared with the locals. What the hell did Hannigan tell Rigsby? And then he took off, leaving Rigsby holding the bag. Shit._

"Cho?"

"Nothing, Boss."

She waited a few moments more, then let it go. "Get outta here. Have a good weekend."


	3. Chapter 3 - Discovering What We Got

**Chapter 3: Discovering What We Got**

**Cho and Rigsby**

"Two more steps. Get the door?"

"Yeah." Cho fumbled behind him while holding his end of Rigsby's couch. "Drop your end so we can get around the corner." He nudged the door fully open with his shoulder, then pushed the couch high. The couch made it around the corner with an inch to spare.

"In front of the fireplace."

Cho grunted, busy repositioning his hands without dropping it. They jockeyed it into position and gently set it down, panting from the exertion.

"What's it made of, lead? Cripes, Rigsby."

"I'm big, it's big." He stepped back and closed the door, inspecting the wall before returning. "Thanks. Appreciate not banging up the wall."

Cho nodded and dropped down onto the couch. "That it?"

"Yep. Thanks, man. I'll help with your next move."

"August." Cho glanced over. "I'm moving next August."

"Why? Your place is great and you've only been there two months."

"Morning traffic stinks."

Rigsby fetched a rag and wiped his face. "Ready for beer and pizza?"

"Yeah." Cho stripped off the sweaty t-shirt and put on the fresh one he brought with. Rigsby saw the scar on Cho's upper right arm and realized its significance, but chose not to comment.

"Let's go."

The neighborhood was filled with classic, old houses that were gradually being rehabbed. Rents were reasonable because crime was still high. Several casual restaurants and bars had opened to cater to the influx of yuppies - young, urban professionals.

"Here you go. One large. Half everything, and half pepperoni and extra cheese," she announced cheerfully, sliding the pizza onto the stand. The red‑haired 20-something gave a smile guaranteed to boost her tip by five percent. "'Another round?"

"Sure," Rigsby replied for both. "Two," he said, sliding the empty bottles toward her.

Cho watched Rigsby watch the waitress walk away, hips pleasantly swaying.

"Redheads?"

"Huh?" His attention returned to Cho.

"Got a thing for redheads?"

"Got a thing for pretty young women."

"Ask her out."

Rigsby winced and reached for a slice of pizza. "Nah. Need to focus on work for awhile."

They inhaled the first few slices, hungry from moving Rigsby in. Cho leaned back, observing Rigsby work his way through his half. Rigsby finally looked at him, uncomfortable under Cho's unblinking gaze. "What?" he asked around the bite he was chewing, then thought to wash it down with beer.

"What happened with Hannigan?"

Rigsby looked down. "I screwed up."

"Know that. Why?"

Rigsby tossed his half-eaten piece onto his plate and shoved it roughly away. "What the hell does it matter? I screwed up. And I owe you for not telling Lisbon."

"It matters who has my back. Why?"

Rigsby tipped his chair against the wall and took a swig of beer, delaying. He finally muttered, "Nothing I could report." When Cho's gaze didn't waver he explained, "Hannigan said Lisbon cleared Lanton. I _assumed_ he meant cleared as a suspect. Stupid."

Cho leaned forward. "That's one hell of an assumption. Why didn't you ask?"

Almost inaudibly, "I did."

"What?"

Angry, too loud, "I did! I asked if that meant let him go. Hannigan repeated Lanton was cleared, then left. -Dammit, I was played like a virgin."

"Why'd you fall for it? You know better." It wasn't a question. Rigsby looked at him, realizing Cho knew – something – about his past.

Bitterly. "Didn't expect to be screwed by a team member." Cho dropped his gaze and reached for more pizza. Rigsby looked straight at him. "Why didn't you tell Lisbon?"

Calmly. "Didn't know the story. And–" he took a bite, took his time chewing, "if it's a choice between you and Hannigan, I _know_ I don't want Hannigan."

"Well," hesitant again, "thanks."

Cho looked at him levelly. "You've had your one pass." Then after a moment, "I want this to work out."

A trifle uncomfortable, "Me too. Won't happen again."

"Good." That was the last time the topic came up. The residual tension between them had evaporated.

**Lisbon's Team**

Lisbon refilled her mug with coffee after finishing her sandwich at her desk. Paperwork was ubiquitous and unending in bureaucracies like the CBI. She waited for a fax to finish printing, and idly looked toward the bullpen. Rigsby was kidding Cho at his desk. As soon as Hannigan walked in, Rigsby tensed up and walked away. _Three months. Yet whatever happened on that Ford case isn't going away. Crap. Not a great start for teamwork._ She tore the fax off and skimmed it as she walked to her office. The phone rang just as she sat down.

Stepping into the bullpen. "Got one down in Lodi. Fire. Could be bodies inside."

Hannigan got up from his desk. "Why us? PD can't handle it?"

"Seems similar to several in other cities. Arson, always with dead bodies. Could be someone is offering one-stop shopping – arson and hit job bundle."

Rigsby added under his breath, "All for one low, low price." Lisbon glared at his tasteless quip. Rigsby shrugged and she looked away. The four grabbed their things and headed out, taking two SUV's in case they had to split up.

When they arrived, the fire was out and the surrounding lot was a swamp of water and mud. The parking lot asphalt had melted nearest the building. Lisbon directed Cho and Hannigan to interview the witnesses. She and Rigsby talked with the volunteer fire department and PD officers, and would check the burnt out building.

They pushed through the crowd of gawkers, overhearing, "...real bright white ..." "... that hot before ..." "... like looking into the sun ..." "...water hit and it, like, exploded..."

Dirty, tired, smudged with soot, the fire chief gave them the initial briefing. "Call came in at 10:07 a.m. They made electronics stuff here, never any problems before. We had four units and it took three hours to put out. Something exploded inside when water hit it. Fire was way hotter than what I'd usually expect, even for an industrial site."

Rigsby glanced at Lisbon who nodded her approval. "Chief, did they manufacture things here, or just assemble them?"

He frowned. "Just assembly, I think. We require Lodi businesses to file reports on hazardous materials they use. Don't think there was anything unusually hazardous on file."

"But the characteristics of the fire suggest otherwise?"

"Bright white fire – at least for a bit. Heat intense enough to start melting the parking lot. Even though there's that lawn buffer. Something's unusual."

Rigsby seemed satisfied, so Lisbon stepped back into it. "We were called because bodies were reported inside?"

His brow corrugated into deep furrows. "Witness who called it in said she saw someone inside earlier. We didn't see any bodies. Sure as hell wouldn't be any survivors. Burnt out shell, now."

"Is it safe to go inside?"

He grimaced and rubbed a strip of skin that got singed between his mask and neck. "Still hot, don't touch anything. No imminent danger of collapse but keep it short. I'll have a man accompany you."

Flashlight in hand, Rigsby was half way to what remained of the entrance. "Rigsby! We go in together." The younger agent paused till Lisbon and the assigned fireman caught up.

They gingerly stepped inside, glad their practical, thick-soled shoes protected them from the sizzling hot concrete. The inside looked like a war zone. Walls were black with soot, dripping from the water poured on to quench the fire. Furniture was now charred, indistinct lumps and a steel assembly line had become a twisted, partly melted ribbon. Their noses wrinkled at the acrid smells of burnt wood, melted plastic, garlic (of all things), and hundreds of other substances emitting toxic fumes. Rigsby's halogen flashlight cut through the gloom, though smoke and dust diffused the light past a few yards.

"Rigsby," she coughed a little before continuing, "look for bodies first."

They split up and quickly checked the small building.

"Boss!" She made her way back from the other side of the building. Rigsby was crouched next to a pile of ash. Light glinted off a few melted pieces of metal and something shiny – glass? – in the middle. Lisbon came over but was unable to stop coughing.

"Ma'am, you both need to get outta here. We can fit you with oxygen tanks so you can breathe."

Lisbon and Rigsby reluctantly made their way to the entrance again, coughing and shielding their mouths with their suit jackets. Cho and Hannigan were waiting outside.

Once she stopped coughing, "What did you get?"

Cho responded, "Most were gawkers. Three witnesses may actually know something." He flipped open his notepad. "Saw the fire at 10:02. Thought she saw someone going in earlier. Tried the door, which was locked, then called 9-1-1. Another witness said the building was empty because of the Veteran's Day holiday. Several mentioned it burned with brilliant white light and was unusually hot." He motioned to the melted asphalt near the building.

Hannigan added, "Fire guys said no bodies. Maybe it isn't our business."

Lisbon glanced at him in irritation. "Get tanks from the firemen and we'll all go inside. Rigsby thinks he's got something." Hannigan threw Rigsby a dirty look.

Oblivious, Rigsby eagerly made his way back to the location they'd been earlier. Between breaths of oxygen, he explained. "This is definitely arson. The fire started here–" he pointed a short distance away. "Garlic smell is characteristic of burning white phosphorous–"

"Like in munitions?" hazarded Cho.

"Yeah. But someone really wanted everything incinerated. That assembly line is partly melted. Stainless steel melts at 1,400 to 1,500 degrees Fahrenheit – way hotter than a house fire. Here." He pointed back to the area that originally caught his attention. "This is the clincher. This–" he indicated the small, clear oval with his toe, "is a diamond." At their raised eyebrows, "It's in the middle of a blob of melted yellow metal. Gold melts at 2,000 degrees, but diamonds require 6,000 degrees." He swept his arm over the low mound of ash. "Seems likely this was the body of a woman. The diamond and gold were from an engagement ring. Murder."

Hannigan sourly countered, "So the woman got caught in a fire and died. Accident."

Rigsby looked up, eyebrows furrowed. "Cremations are usually done at 1,400 to 1,800 degrees and take _hours_. Someone made damn sure there'd be no incriminating body. The garlic smell indicates white phosphorous was used, probably to start the fire." He nodded to acknowledge Cho's guess, "Then I bet he used a little powdered magnesium, which burns at 5,600 degrees when exposed to air."

"Why just 'a little'?" asked Cho.

"Couldn't be much or the whole building would be a melted heap. I think he placed a small container of powdered magnesium on the body. The fire started by the phosphorus released the magnesium which cremated the body. The brilliant white light, the explosions when water hit the building are consistent with magnesium." He got up and drew a long breath of oxygen from his tank. He dusted his hands, pleased at the chance to apply his expertise.

"Good work, Rigs. Put a marker here so Forensics knows where to look. Everyone outside," Lisbon ordered. Lisbon handed out assignments for investigating the case. Lisbon let Cho and Rigsby team up; she took Hannigan.

Cho drove. Eyes on the road, he commented, "Nice catch, Rigsby."

"Thanks," Rigsby replied despite his surprise.

The diamond proved to be their break. It was engraved with a mandated identifier to stop trade in "blood diamonds" from Africa. That led to the diamond purchaser, a motive, and a description of the arsonist. The arsonist gave up the hit man, deciding his partner was worth less than a lighter sentence. Four cases were solved by their work, and Lisbon got letters of appreciation from the mayors in three of the towns where the arsons had occurred. Slowly but surely, the SCU was building a record. Despite the new, young team, their close rate was now on par with the rest of the CBI.


	4. Chapter 4 - Red John

**A/N: I've posted chapters 3 and 4 on 10/13/14. Please be sure to read chapter 3 before reading this. Thanks.**

***** WARNING: Graphic crime scene after the word "_Horrific!"_ *****

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: Red John<strong>

**Teams Lisbon and Elliott**

The SacPD detective looked around and snorted, "Are they fixing it or destroying it?"

Lisbon gave Elliott a half-smile free of amusement. "S'posed to be fixing it. I'm told the building's gonna be worse before it gets better. –Coffee?" When they nodded, she led them to the break area and then to an interrogation room.

The CBI was legally required to provide a private place for lawyers to meet with their clients, so the interrogation-observation rooms had gotten priority. The CBI employees were disgruntled that the needs of suspects and the occasional lawyer took precedence over people who worked in the building, but grumbling got them nowhere. It was just another "grin and bear it" situation. Earlier, Lisbon had Rigsby, Hannigan and Cho move more chairs into the room for the six of them to meet. The six crowded into the small room.

She made the introductions. "Detectives Elliott and Graham from SacPD. Agents Cho, Hannigan and Rigsby. Elliott and Graham will brief us on the Red John case."

Elliott and Graham gave them an overview of the ten Red John murders to date. Neither one needed any notes for the detailed briefing. Lisbon got the sinking feeling that there was no lack of effort or rigor to explain why the case hadn't been solved. It was simply a damned hard case. They finished by going over the most recent killing last.

"Angela Jane, age 30, and Charlotte Jane, age 6, both killed about ten months ago on the night of February 8, 2002, in Malibu. Discovered by the husband, Patrick Jane, when he got home from a live TV performance in LA. That was the only case where we could establish a connection between the killer and the victims."

"Good," Lisbon said then censored herself. "Uh, I mean–"

Elliott took pity on her. "Know what you mean. 'Good' that there's a connection that maybe could lead to the killer. Not good for the Jane family." She silently added, _No 'family' any more, just one sad survivor._

Lisbon's team had read the files SacPD sent over. This meeting was about the impressions, hunches, and odd details that wouldn't show up in the official record, but might be important to solving the case.

"The connection was that the idiot talked about Red John on TV, right? You sure he didn't do it?" asked Hannigan.

"That was the connection. A hundred people in the live audience equals air-tight alibi."

Cho interjected, "Why did he talk about Red John?"

Elliott sighed. "He's a celebrity 'psychic.' Talks to the dead, that sort of thing. One of the hosts asked him about Red John–"

"Just out of the blue?"

Elliott shrugged uncomfortably. "Don't know if it was a planted question. Anyhow, Jane occasionally advised PD's on cases for years, including Red John."

Cho shook his head in disgust and pity. "So the question could have come up legitimately?"

"Yeah. We checked out the hosts and the audience members. Nothing suspicious about any of them. Don't think Red John manufactured the situation."

Rigsby frowned. "Why would a PD bother with a psychic? It's all BS, right?"

Graham rubbed the back of his neck. "No comment. This guy's given LAPD some amazing leads over the years."

Hannigan said sharply, "But you're sure he isn't somehow connected to the crimes, to have info like that?"

"Positive."

Lisbon asked a question for the first time since the briefing. "Have you gone back and tried to correlate the details of the murders?"

Elliott replied, "We just started on that, but didn't finish. New cases took precedence."

"I think that's where we'll start then. Sift through the files for any common elements, Re‑interview the victims' relatives and witnesses. We'll start with the most recent case and work backwards. Any other suggestions?"

Elliott shook his head. "The witnesses never saw much of anything, but it can't hurt. No, we don't have any better ideas. –Uh, the Jane case was the most recent, but you may have a problem."

Sharply, "Why, isn't he cooperative?"

"_Too_ cooperative. Hell, he was bugging us weekly about progress. A real nuisance. But he stopped all of a sudden."

"Why?"

"No idea. Dropped out of sight four months ago. No one knows where he is."

"Relatives, friends, manager, publicist?"

"His in-laws are retired, living near LA. They don't know anything. He has no relatives we know of. They didn't have a lot of friends, so nothing there. He stopped the TV show cold and his manager hasn't heard from him. We thought Red John might have targeted him, but the body probably would have turned up by now."

Lisbon shook her head in disgust. Jane was the newest and closest connection - _hell, the only connection _- to the serial killer. And he was missing. She looked at the men from SacPD. "Anything I should be asking that I'm not?"

Elliott pulled a photo from his breast pocket. "I'm gonna offer a piece of advice." He laid a crime scene photo of the ninth and tenth Red John victims – Angela and Charlotte Jane – on the table. "This bastard is vicious and smart and persistent. The murders are random, not crimes of passion. Anyone could be a target. Make sure your families and friends stay out of his cross hairs. It's not through lack of trying that we didn't get him." They stared at the gory, gut-twisting scene for a moment.

Finally, Lisbon stirred and spoke. "We'll keep that in mind. I can see no effort was spared. Thanks for your help."

The meeting broke up, handshakes all around. Elliott and Graham welcomed any questions any time. Last to leave, Lisbon stopped short to avoid bumping into a Napa County sheriff being given a tour by an agent from another unit. She nodded politely without really seeing him as she hurried to her office, wondering what calls came in during the meeting.

**Lisbon's Team**

It was a quarter after. Lisbon noticed Hannigan's desk was empty, and shrugged it off with the assumption he was in the men's room or on another floor. Lisbon got coffee at half past, this time not ignoring the still-empty desk. Hannigan finally showed up an hour later.

"Hannigan, follow me." She strode to the observation room and waited till Hannigan arrived. She held the door open as he brushed past her, then closed and locked it. He stood next to the table in the dimly lit room.

Lisbon stood for a moment, looking her agent up and down. "Is there a reason you're late?"

He swallowed. "Car wouldn't start. Had to wait to get it jumped."

Quietly, "Your phone didn't work either?"

He didn't answer.

She inhaled then exhaled slowly, keeping a tight grip on her temper. "You're hung over. And I smell alcohol on your breath." He flashed back to brushing by her, realizing he'd been nailed. "I _won't tolerate_ drunks. Puts the team at risk. Not to mention the public." She paused. Coldly, "Hannigan, you're barely earning your keep. You're slacking off and a pain in the ass to deal with. This is the first and last time you show up hung over or smelling like a bar. Understood?"

He grimaced, angry and belligerent. "Yeah."

"And get rid of the bottle in your desk."

He looked up, face contorted in anger. "What about your–"

Furiously, "Don't!" After a minute, back in control, "Minelli would fire my ass if I start coming in hung over smelling like booze. Expect the same." Two quick steps and she was out, the door banging loudly against the wall.

The day went downhill from there.

Lisbon spent her lunch hour in the CBI's basement gym. Surprisingly it was one of the first perqs available to employees because a previous tenant had renovated it into an employee fitness center.

Lisbon whipped out her leg, kick solidly connecting with the heavy bag. Usually she could lose herself in the exertion while burning off the anger and frustration. _Yeah, I know Hannigan resents me. _*Thwack* _Wife divorced him five years ago and– _*slap* _–he screwed up his career at SacPD. Not. My. Fault– _*thud*_ –he can't cope._ This time the exercise didn't wipe Hannigan's sour face from her mind._ Dammit!_ Hannigan's visage gradually morphed into her father's face. Not the loving face of her childhood. *Thwack* The enraged, drunken image from her teen years. Finally, her anger had burned off, replaced by exhaustion. Guilt rose like bile, the betrayal of her faith by her feelings cutting like a razor. She hadn't been able to save her father. It increasingly seemed Hannigan was determined to self-destruct, too. She showered, changed, and was at her desk when the call came in from the SFPD.

Judging by the report of a slashed victim under a red smilely face, they had just gotten their first Red John case. They left immediately on the two-hour drive. Lisbon and Hannigan rode in one SUV, Rigsby and Cho in the other. They found the location - an up-scale neighborhood of manicured lawns and large houses. After parking behind the squad cars, they made their way through the crowd and flashed their badges as they ducked under the tape.

Striding up to the clump of uniforms and suits, Lisbon opened, "Senior Agent Lisbon from the CBI. Who's in charge?"

A detective she didn't know stepped forward. "I'm Detective Greene, SFPD. The murder was reported just after noon when the cleaning woman let herself in. "Looks like a Red John murder."

"What's known about the victim?"

"Julie Darman. White female, 28, married no children. Husband's on a business trip. Neighbors say he should be back any time now. No record other than a few parking tickets. Uh," he consulted his notes, "–graduated from Berkley in 2000 and is – was – working for a law firm in the city. Firm says she went home then returned at 8 p.m. to finish a document. She left for the night at 10 p.m." He motioned with his chin toward the gaggle of on-lookers, "The officers questioned the crowd but no one saw anything."

"Forensics?"

"Since it's a Red John case, thought you'd want CBI Forensics to handle it."

"Yes, thank you. I asked for a team to be sent before I left."

Lisbon ordered her three agents to canvass the crowd before it dispersed and check any nearby neighboring houses. She followed Greene inside. Her team would follow when they finished. The heavy smell of blood foretold the scene as she climbed the stairs.

_Horrific!_

There was no other word, but it was much too feeble to do justice to the sight. Maybe she had freed her arm and tried to fight back, accounting for blood sprayed over three walls from a severed artery. Astonishingly, a crude tourniquet was applied to one wrist. That way she wouldn't die too soon, wouldn't prematurely escape the pain. Her wrists and ankles were bound to the four posts. The agony on her face meant she was conscious as the killer tortured and eviscerated her. Numerous shallow cuts maximized pain, care taken not to kill too soon. The final cuts sliced through skin, muscle, and organs. The viscera were neatly piled alongside the deathly white corpse. Blood had pooled under her neck, where her throat was slit - the final, decisive cut. Smudges on the bed made it clear where the killer had dipped his three fingers to paint the smilely face above her.

Lisbon ducked out of the room and leaned against the hall wall, eyes momentarily closed. She had seen crime scene pictures in the Red John files. They didn't begin to prepare her for the reality. After a moment she regained control and returned to the room. She needed to understand what had happened, look for anything that could help identify and stop the animal responsible.

Cho appeared at her side a few minutes later. His face remained impassive, though a few shades too pale for normal.

"Anything?"

"Not much. One neighbor saw a light in the bedroom at 2 a.m., but thought nothing of it."

"Tell Rigsby to collect any CCTV recordings in a quarter mile radius. We don't know the TOD, but– Oh." She turned. "Dr. Barker, can you give us any idea of the TOD?" she asked the medical examiner who had just arrived.

He surveyed the corpse, swallowing heavily. "Normally we'd use the liver temperature, but– Here, let's just go by rigor mortis for a quick estimate." After a few minutes, "I'd say TOD is safely within the 1 a.m. to 3 a.m. range."

Lisbon continued. "Have Rigsby pull everything from 8 p.m. to 4 a.m." At Cho's raised eyebrows she explained, "Don't know when he got here." Cho left. Ten minutes later a commotion outside grabbed Lisbon's attention as she was systematically analyzing the crime scene.

"You oaf, I'll have your badge. It's my house and I want to see what happened to my wife!"

"The body's upstairs, sir," Hannigan's voice said.

A 20-something man dashed up the stairs and stopped dead in the doorway as the full import of the scene struck him. He vomited, took another breath of blood-scented air, then collapsed.

Lisbon swore under her breath. "Hannigan! Why the hell did you let him up here, dammit?!"

Hannigan arrived, breathing heavily from climbing the flight of stairs. "I didn't–" He paused and swallowed. He weakly continued, "He insisted and ran up here." He took a good look around then turned and went back downstairs.

Cho passed him on the way and muttered just loud enough for Hannigan to hear, "You're an ass, Hannigan." No matter how arrogant or pompous the husband had been, his wife's murder scene would be an indelible image. Hannigan had amused himself on other occasions by letting civilians get an eyeful of gruesome murder scenes – often when a family member was the victim.

The ME asked Cho to help move Darman into the hall, and snapped an ammonia inhalant capsule to revive him.

Two weeks later they had run down every lead to a dead end. Red John murder number eleven was no closer to being solved than the first ten. The publicity firestorm died down when there was truly no news. California citizens again took extra precautions for months until the Red John murder was replaced with some new threat in the public consciousness. When the publicity died down, the SCU received a note welcoming them to the Red John case. It was signed with a red smiley face drawn in Julie Darman's blood. No fingerprints, DNA, or postmark.

Lisbon had her agents spend any spare time studying the Red John files and gradually re‑interviewing every witness, suspect, relative and friend associated with every murder. Frustratingly, a year after his family's murder, the elusive Patrick Jane remained unreachable. The only consolation was the strong likelihood that Jane wouldn't make any difference.

It wasn't clear whether Teresa Lisbon had the Red John case. Or whether the Red John case had her.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Coming of Patrick Jane

**Chapter 5: The Coming of Patrick Jane**

**Flight From Asylum**

Dr. Sophie Miller couldn't help returning a grin as Patrick Jane flashed his million dollar smile, knowing she'd be watching from her office window. The handsome, immaculately clad man gave a casual wave, then was enveloped by the taxi. She watched it drive away, sighed, and turned back to the work on her desk. He _looked_ like he had the world by the tail, but she was too good a psychiatrist to think the external accurately reflected the internal. Patrick Jane had made amazing progress after a breakdown caused by his wife and daughter's horrible murders. But he was far from well. She was comfortable he was not a danger to himself or others. He still faced a long journey before he would fully recover - if ever. She fervently hoped he would take her advice and continue with psychiatric counseling.

Jane gave the cabbie his Malibu address and sank back against the seat cushion. His smile and confident bearing vanished once he was out of sight. He was grateful. Hell, he was more than grateful that Miller had dragged him back to sanity during his six months in the asylum.

He had no one else.

After the funeral, friends and relatives and business acquaintances resumed their lives leaving him to focus, undisturbed, on his family's slaughter and his role in it. For awhile he eagerly pursued information from Detective Elliott, hoping the case soon would be solved. As days became weeks and then months, he gradually recognized his naivete. It crushed him. If the cops hadn't been able to solve the first eight murders, why would nine and ten be different? He had to accept that the killer wouldn't be stopped any time soon. Maybe never. That's when he lost it.

With Miller's help he gradually regained control of his mind, and body, and emotions. As he rejoined the world, a lifetime as a con man kicked in and he carefully presented the picture of recovery Miller sought and expected. There was a price to pay for freedom - freedom first from restraints, then from the locked and padded room, from powerful psychotropic drugs, and finally from the asylum itself. That price was convincing Miller he was "no longer a danger to himself or others." If he had other children they would have been his reason for not-dying. But he didn't.

She had helped him back to sanity by encouraging him to fight back, to resist letting a vicious killer rob him of his life. She had spoken in metaphors. He had understood with literal and lethal intent. Walking away, starting a new life, would mean accepting that his innocent wife and daughter could be killed without consequence. He _couldn't_ walk away and live with it. To Patrick Jane, "fighting back" meant ridding the world of the monster who murdered his innocent wife and child.

It was true: He was no longer a danger to himself. But he was determined to be a _deadly_ danger to the serial killer the press had nicknamed Red John. It was his sole reason not to die. Yet.

"Hey, dude. I've got another call. Mind?"

The cabbie's voice startled Jane. Jane blinked and looked around, realizing they were at his home – _No, my house. Never again 'home.'_ He reached into his breast pocket for his billfold, pulled out two bills and handed them to the driver.

The driver looked then looked again. "The fare's forty bucks. You sure about this?"

Jane didn't reply as he slowly forced himself from the safety of the taxi to stand before his house. After a moment, the cabbie pulled away, more than happy with getting two-hundred for a forty dollar ride. Jane didn't notice. He wouldn't care if he had.

Shivers from the chill night air returned him to the present. He gazed wide‑eyed at the silvery sliver of moon, surprised that hours had passed. He couldn't bring himself to go into the house after the taxi left, so sat on the concrete front steps instead. He stiffly stood and faced the front door, then turned aside. He made his way to the office/guest house in the back. A year-old tin blessedly enabled him to make tea with the instant-hot water dispenser. He vaguely thought he should eat and found a package of crackers from when he had snacked between psychic readings, two murders and a lifetime ago. He slept on the office couch under the dust cover.

It took him three days to enter the house.

The house was empty. Naturally, his family's eternal absence left an aching void. It was empty of possessions as well. Jane was thankful his pre-asylum self had removed everything except his clothes and his daughter's mattress. The reminders had been unbearable. He leadenly climbed the stairs and entered the master bedroom, assiduously ignoring the image on one wall. He shed the hand-tailored Italian suit Sophie Miller's assistant had fetched. He abruptly swept the other shiny "TV psychic" suits from the rod onto the floor. That life had cost him everything. He would burn these reminders of his terrible recklessness and arrogance the next morning. The back of his walk-in closet yielded a dozen three-piece suits. They were comforting, clothes he had worn before the TV appearances that led to catastrophe. In those days he downplayed the questionable aspects of selling "psychic" readings and tried to fit in with his conservative, wealthy clientele. After a shower, he put on a white dress shirt and just the pants from a suit.

By nightfall Jane had dragged his daughter's twin mattress into his bedroom - what used to be his _and Angela's_ bedroom. He put it under the reddish-brown smiley face. This symbol would spur him in his quest for vengeance. Should he be tempted to move on, this obscene mark drawn with his family's blood would remind him of his duty to Angela and Charlotte. He would hunt, and kill, the murderer of his family. Or die trying. Only that could ease his guilt for causing their deaths.

Jane fell into fitful sleep, soon broken by the predictable nightmares. He woke at dawn and realized he had to get started. Staying in the barren, ghost-ridden house had already weakened the shaky foundations of his sanity. Descent back into depression and madness would defeat him. He burned the pile of shiny suits out back. He showered and found pants and a clean - if wrinkled - shirt to wear.

**Taking Up The Quest**

The garage sheltered three of his vintage cars. Jane chose the oldest and most modest, the one he and Angela bought once they could afford more than necessities. He ran his hand over the sensuous lines of the old Citroen, got in, and began the long drive to Sacramento. He needed to be where information about the case was, where the people charged with catching the killer worked. That would be his starting point.

It was months since he had talked with Detective Elliott. He fantasized about whether there was a break in the case and wondered if Red John's capture would be a good thing. Shame engulfed him at selfishly craving to be the hand that killed the bastard (though he still coveted it). Delay would mean more victims, more destroyed families. If Red John were ever in his hands, he would kill him like a rabid dog, without remorse. But anything that terminated the evil _had_ to count as good.

The smartest man in the room, the man who was always ten steps ahead failed to plan. Physical pressure intruded on his reflections and forced him to pull onto the shoulder of the interstate. Jane half‑walked, half‑slid down the embankment and ducked into the trees to relieve himself. The fastidious man was disgusted at being so out of it as to necessitate the crude bathroom break. Walking back, he tripped on a tree root. He was unharmed but his clothes were in disarray and smudged with dirt. He didn't notice.

The clerk of the Sacramento Police Department called Detective Elliott to the front desk. Elliott politely greeted Patrick Jane. _Good Jane is alive and wel – um, _alive_ at least. Glad he's no longer my headache._ Elliott told Jane the Red John case was now the business of the CBI and referred him to Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon. Elliott meant to alert Lisbon as soon as he got rid of Jane, but a new case intervened. It was old news by the time he did call.

**The CBI**

Jane stood outside looking at the century-old building. He was surprised at the warm, weathered, _human_ character of the building which housed what he imagined to be a cold, efficient, blunt instrument of justice – the California Bureau of Investigation. He shook himself a little before entering. He couldn't afford to keep drifting off. He needed to talk or trick his way around the inevitable bureaucratic red tape to get the information he wanted. _Needed._ He huffed. _They sure won't intentionally help me kill the psychopath. Maybe being the spouse and -_ he swallowed _– father of victims is enough to explain my interest. I'll make it enough._ A moment later he had talked his way into the building and learned the location of the SCU. The security guard did search him thoroughly, however.


	6. Chapter 6 - The CBI

**A/N: Passages marked with an asterisk (*) are quoted verbatim from the "Red Dawn" episode of The ****Mentalist.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 6: The CBI<strong>

**Fallen Star**

Lisbon looked through a gap in the room dividers as Rigsby intercepted a visitor exiting the elevator. He looked like his home was a cardboard box in the alley.

A moment later Rigsby stuck his head into her makeshift office. "He says his name's Patrick Jane."*

Lisbon straightened in surprise. Voice low, "Patrick Jane? Really?"* As a cop she had to have a good eye for faces. The disheveled, hollow‑eyed man looked nothing like the glossy publicity photos of the TV psychic, the husband and father of Red John victims nine and ten.

"Red John, right? Wife and daughter? About a year ago?"* Rigsby recalled from their meeting with the SacPD detectives when they got the case. Jane had disappeared months ago and remained missing despite LE being on the lookout for him.

Lisbon got up to meet him. _At least we can finally interview him. _"Mr. Jane. I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon. You wanted to talk to me?"* Lisbon asked. She extended her arm, almost afraid to shake his hand lest he crumble at her touch.

"Hi," he responded softly. "Um, Detective Elliott said that you're in charge of the - the Red John investigation?"* he asked uncertainly. His family's destruction had shattered his self‑confidence, his belief he could predict and control people and events. The enormity of this step intensified his every apprehension: He was hunting a man to kill him.

However tentative, Jane doggedly asked and pushed for information, for a meeting _to get_ information, for the opportunity_ to just wait_ until she had time to answer questions. However polite, Lisbon deflected and resisted. The status of the Red John case was a big question; there was other pressing work; it was against policy for him to wait in the SCU office area. Her resistance hardly mattered. Jane found it a relief to have a concrete obstacle to overcome. For the first time in a year, he had a goal to actually _do something _for his family. _Or for their memory,_ echoed the thought faintly in his head.

Lisbon returned to her desk, relieved at deflecting the relative's inquiries. Every cop quickly learned he couldn't fix the wreckage from heinous crimes. They were _cops_, not counselors or social workers. A cop's job was removing criminals from society to prevent further harm. And her job as unit leader included protecting her team from the drag of distraught relatives – from the wasted time, neediness, and emotional drain that complicated and slowed their work. Hannigan would escort him out. With luck, he would wander off and forget to return - at least till they needed him for the case interview. _Need to focus on the Malikoff Diggins case._ Cho and Rigsby had already left. She and Hannigan needed to be on their way to the crime scene as soon as possible.

She was pleased too soon. Lisbon couldn't make out the words, but Hannigan's all too familiar angry voice followed by a solid thud didn't bode well. She swiftly made her way to the elevator. The slight, traumatized Jane was on the floor with a bloody nose. Hannigan stood over him with balled fists.

"What the hell are you doing, Hannigan?!"* Lisbon demanded angrily.

"Boss–"*

"I told you to take him downstairs, not beat him up!"*

"Sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I ‑ I lost it."* Hannigan was only contrite when caught red handed. She was getting fed up.

Surprisingly Jane protested. "No, no. It ‑‑ it's fine. It's fine. -My fault. My fault entirely. I provoked you."* Lisbon helped Jane up, steadying him as he rose shakily to his feet.

A little cleaning up and a bag of ice later, Jane sat at the conference table while Minelli and Lisbon worked out what to do. Unsurprised at Hannigan's latest screw-up, Minelli was in full damage control mode. There would be no lawsuit or even complaint. Lisbon would do whatever was necessary to guarantee it. He ignored her pro forma defense of Hannigan as irrelevant.

**The Drive**

A quarter-hour later, Lisbon was a little stunned at the rapid turn of events. She rode shotgun as Hannigan drove the SUV to the Malikoff Diggins crime scene. Patrick Jane was in the back seat. She had _almost_ gotten rid of Jane. And now she was obliged to shepherd him around on this case and tell him about Red John._ No, worse: Give him access to the files. He lucked out when Hannigan slugged him_.

The silence lay heavily since not one of the three welcomed the company. Lisbon mulled the events. _Patrick Jane shows up, still shattered, a year after the murders and months off the radar. Wants to know where the case is. _Unbidden, the crime scene photo of his slaughtered family appeared in her mind's eye. She wanted to smother her rush of sympathy but couldn't quite manage it. She squared her shoulders. _If cops get emotional there's no one to stop the perps. We're cops, not grief counselors!_

_ And then Hannigan can't keep his act together._ She glanced at Hannigan, irritated anew._ At least Jane admits provoking him. Don't care how long Hannigan's been a cop, he has just about overdrawn Minelli's good will. What did Minelli say? 'Cop with a history attacks a murder victim's grieving spouse.' Lawsuit material. And the publicity! Patrick Jane was a celebrity. With his family's murder, he could generate bad press for months._ She unconsciously sighed, not noticing how observant Jane was.

_ When Jane pried about progress on the Red case we told him nothing. _Lisbon frowned. _ How the hell did he know we have no leads, no suspects? Interesting. He knew there were ten victims. Didn't know about the latest one even though it was all over the news. _She shook her head slightly._ No matter. Minelli gave him access to the files, confidentiality and rules be damned. I guess Jane would figure out we're not exactly hot on Red John's heels anyhow. Strange though..._

**Malikoff Diggins**

Lisbon's attention turned to the new case when they reached Malikoff Diggins. The three exited the SUV. Cho and Rigsby had done the initial work-up. She brushed off Cho's question. Right now it was unimportant that Jane came along. She ignored Jane as Cho briefed her about the murder of Winston Dellinger.

Jane followed them around the crime scene, out of his element but determined to learn as much as possible. He looked down at the victim, visibly disturbed by the blood, the staring, blank eyes, the violent death. He asked Hannigan what they did to investigate. Lisbon was happy to have Hannigan babysit the outsider. After all, Hannigan was the reason why Jane was tagging along.

The next time Lisbon glanced that way, Jane was kneeling doubled over, looking distinctly green. _A sick civilian. Just what I need. _Nonetheless, he was her responsibility.

She called out, "You all right?"*

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just, uh– Oh, I'm just a little lightheaded."*

Hannigan told the coroner to take the body then checked with Lisbon. Lisbon assigned him the next tasks needed to retrace the victim's steps.

"Find the lady,"* Jane unexpectedly croaked, voice rough from fighting down nausea. He clambered back to his feet.

"What lady?"* she asked sharply.

"The lady he was on a date with."*

Hannigan commented, "Wow. So you are some kind of psychic. How do you figure that, Kreskin?"* he asked, mocking Jane with the name of a 1970's TV psychic. Lisbon gritted her teeth at the unnecessary comment. _Jackass. Hannigan forgets _he's_ responsible for Jane being here. Leave it to Hannigan to dig himself deeper._

Defiantly, "There's no such thing as psychics."* After a moment Jane continued, "He has a bachelor's car, peacock clothes. He smells of alcohol and breath mints and too much cologne."* He spread his hands and voiced the obvious conclusion. "Date."*

"Okay. Well, thank you for your input,"* she said politely and returned to her team.

Cho would check out the restaurant identified from Dellinger's credit card receipt. Cho, Hannigan and Rigsby would ride back in one SUV while Lisbon took the other. Jane accepted her offer of a ride back to Sacramento. She had one stop along the way.

**Judge Dellinger**

Lisbon drove, eyes straight ahead, furious that the morning's mess had spawned even bigger problems, courtesy of one irritating, irresponsible, _ignorant_ civilian. Lisbon had stopped to interview Winston Dellinger's family and had talked to Judge Dellinger. It was her bad luck the judge wanted to talk outside, where there was no easy way of excluding the tagalong.

The interview was a disaster. Lisbon was asking standard questions to learn who might have reason to kill the judge's son. The judge suggested that some criminal he had sentenced might have killed his son to get back at him: "You want to hurt a man? Don't kill him. Kill his family."* Inexplicably, Jane then opined that the judge was disappointed in his son because of Winston Dellinger's alcoholism.

_ Dammit, I retracted that and apologized, but the damage was already done. Without the lab results, there is not a shred of evidence supporting that idea. Let's trash the damn victim with some irrelevant accusation. But, no, that wasn't enough! Jane then says the judge is disappointed in his son. Inexcusable. No wonder Dellinger was pissed!_ She decided a few pointed comments were warranted.

"Dellinger chairs the Fifth Circuit Appeals Court. Do you know how much trouble I could get in if he's pissed off?"*

"No. How much?"* Jane asked, curious, neither repentant nor pleased.

"A lot. What you have to understand–"* She was interrupted by her cell phone. "Yeah? Hang on, Cho."* Lisbon pulled over. She said to Jane, "Excuse me,"* and stepped out of the SUV to take the call. After a moment, Jane also got out. She finished the call and snapped the phone shut.

No longer angry, "You were right. The victim was on a date. Good call."* _From the sound of that date, he's also right about the alcohol abuse . But I won't give him the satisfaction_ _without proof._ Her irritation was replaced with curiosity which Jane somehow picked up.

"Cold reading."*

"Cold reading?"*

"You, for instance. You cared for a dysfunctional parent. -Father, probably. That's why you put up with Hannigan."*

"I don't put up with Hannigan,"* she disagreed, irritated.

Jane continued as though she hadn't spoken. "His unhappiness reminds you of your father's unhappiness."*

Dismissive, "We're done for the day. Is there somewhere I could drop you off?"* Lisbon moved toward the driver's door.

Hesitant but determined, "What about - the Red John files?"*

She faced him. "Mr. Jane, I truly sympathize. I understand how you're feeling. I would probably feel the same way."* Intensely, "But nothing good will come from chasing this man. It's the kind of obsession that destroys people. Go someplace else. Try to get on with your life."*

"That's just what Hannigan said."*

Trapped by Minelli's offer, she finally answered his question, "Come to the office in the morning."* Disapproval clear, she added with a grimace, "But clean yourself up. You're a mess."*

When they were on the road again, they lapsed into silence. _I am not 'putting up' with Hannigan. He's the only way we could get new cases. _She glared at Jane for a moment before looking back at the road._ How the hell can he tell about my father? And what business is it of his? Obnoxious jerk. _Her lips twitched at the last thought._ At least I told him to clean up. God knows wallowing in tragedy does no good. The man should have some self respect!_

Lisbon dropped him off near the CBI building so he could get his car. She didn't know where he was going and, with luck, wouldn't see him till they needed him for an interview on the Red John case. _Too bad he asked about the files. I hoped he'd forgotten, hoped he would just walk away. _She huffed. _Even Hannigan was right about that advice. We'll do our job and get the killer. Obsessed relatives won't help._

**Hannigan, Cho and Rigsby**

The three got back to Sacramento by 6 p.m. Hannigan asked to be dropped off at a friend's house. Cho thought it was suspiciously close to a neighborhood bar, but it was none of his business. Cho and Rigsby drove on to the CBI building to pick up their cars. There was no need to work late on this case. Maybe they'd get pizza and watch the game after all.

"What's the story with Jane?"

"Asked to talk to Lisbon about Red John."

"How'd he get grafted onto our case?"

"Wilson in Fraud called me. Hannigan gave Jane a bloody nose after we left."

"Explains it."

"Yeah?"

"Favor to Jane to ward off a lawsuit. Sounds like Minelli."

Rigsby shrugged. "Makes sense. Wonder if that's the end of it."

"Find out tomorrow. -He was right about Dellinger's date." After a moment. "Hannigan was at it again."

"What?"

"Make the civilian puke at the crime scene."

"Jerk. Think Lisbon will ever get rid of him?"

"Not unless she can get someone else. Can't work new cases otherwise."

"You stop for pizza. I'll be set up when you get to my place."

"Split the cost?"

"Sure."

**Lisbon**

Lisbon got home late, tired after the long day of working a case and playing tour guide to Patrick Jane. She set aside her gun and holster, shed jacket and shoes, and padded into the kitchen with the takeout bag. In a few minutes she was settled on the couch in front of the TV. As usual there was nothing compelling enough to hold her attention. Her thoughts drifted back to work. She resisted thinking about the case since it was early days with too little information to untangle the murder.

_Strange day. Patrick Jane shows up out of thin air after six months. Wish he'd taken a hint and let it go. But once Hannigan hit him Jane gets the info on Red John he wanted. And more. –What the hell am I gonna do about Hannigan? He's becoming more trouble than he's worth, but I won't go back to reading cold files because we're short handed. And why is he always around when relatives get sick at crime scenes? Not what I had in mind for my team. Tomorrow. I'll worry about Hannigan tomorrow._

_ Jane. He looked like he crawled out of a dumpster. Or a bottle. But he was on target about a lot of things. He - what was it? - 'read' Minelli and me like a book. Was right about Dellinger's date, right about the alcoholism, too. I wonder just how Hannigan came to punch him. A lot more interesting than your typical traumatized relative. Now, if I could bottle that 'cold reading' talent..._

She sipped her coffee and was relaxed by her favorite drink despite the caffeine. _And his family's murder. Mother of God, how do you come back from that? Despite pissing Judge Dellinger off, I can only imagine how Jane felt at 'You want to hurt a man? Don't kill him. Kill his family.'* Jane didn't react. Not even when the judge asked if he had a child and he answered 'no.' Jesus._

Lisbon sat a moment, hand on her crucifix, and prayed that Jane _would_ walk away. Then she resolutely set aside the day and took another crack at enjoying the TV show.

**Jane**

He closed the door of the cheap motel room he'd rented for the night. Shabby but clean. If it had a shower with hot water and a bed, it would do. He put down the duffel bag with his few toiletries, shirts and underwear, and hung one of the suits in the closet. The diner he found had good tea and passable food. He was pleased at that.

After a shower, he lay on the bed and went over the day._ I have access to the Red John files. A start. The CBI agents will be no problem to 'persuade' as needed. _He shrugged and shifted into a more comfortable position.

Jane half-smiled, surprising himself with an honest, positive emotion._ Lisbon, Cho and Rigsby. Likeable, if a bit stiff. For a tiny, young and–_ he frowned_ –surprisingly attractive woman, she certainly has presence. Fierce little thing._ Lisbon had shocked him by calling him out on his slovenly appearance. He was grateful for her lack of pity. _And she's right. No excuse to look a mess even if I am one. _

_ Cho is ... interesting. Ex-military. Ex-...gang? Smart. Hilariously brusque. _He smiled again._ Both a natural _and_ an intentional persona. Big, amiable Rigsby. Also a rough past, father I'd guess. Good cop, more wedded to the rules than Cho or even Lisbon. _

_ Hannigan. Hannigan is a slug. Shrewd but not smart. Sometimes brutal. Bitter and self‑pitying. Hannigan fits every negative stereotype about cops that carnies have. So why the hell is he on Lisbon's team? Doesn't fit. Should figure it out. _

_ Then there's Minelli. Minelli has been around the block a few times. Believes in law enforcement, but experienced enough to see in shades of gray. Big supporter of Lisbon. Father-daughter thing going on there. _A shadow crossed his face then vanished._ Could be amusing._

Jane turned onto his side, drowsing more contentedly than he had for months. _The murder case is interesting. Who dunnit? Curious to see it solved. _ He had new people to read and a murder mystery to think about. (He blinked. His first murder case aside from the only one important to him.) Somewhat to his surprise he realized the day had given him more relief from endless thoughts about his family's murder and murderer than he could remember. _A start._


	7. Chapter 7 - Investigating

**A/N: Passages marked with an asterisk are quoted verbatim from the "Red Dawn" episode of The Mentalist.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7: Investigating<strong>

**Jane**

Jane woke for the second time. _Morning at last._ Since ... a year ago, he never slept well and sometimes not at all. Last night he fell asleep again, garnering him perhaps five precious hours total. _Maybe that's why I feel better._

He showered even though he had showered the night before. Jane told himself his hair dried wild last night and he needed to take a new stab at taming it. Mousse and hair dryer had been abandoned along with every other trapping of his TV psychic life. He decided the electric razor did a good enough job last night even though there was now a slight stubble. He didn't delve into why he cared other than assuring himself that conning the cops would be easier if he fit in. Of course, he really didn't need to con them any further as he already had the access he wanted.

_Okay, it's also because the little boss cop told me to clean up_, he admitted to himself wryly. Till now, _no one_ had needed to tell him that once he escaped the trashy glitz of carnival life, once he could buy his own clothes. (His father never spent a dime on him unless forced to. When his carny clothes were bought new instead of second hand, they were usually too big at first and then eventually too small as he grew.) He felt like he was preparing for a show. Perhaps he was. _Present a confident image and maybe the internal will follow suit._

Being around cops was certainly a strange new world. Exquisitely perceptive of the humanity around him, Jane couldn't help but discern the reactions, cross currents, doubts, irritation and indifference of the others, even if he chose not to react. Like most people, he preferred to be liked than not. Charming people usually was as effortless as breathing. _This lion's den of cops is interesting, even challenging. Lisbon would rather I walk away. Every instinct tells her I'm bad news. An outsider, a con man burdened with grief - it isn't infectious, Lisbon! - someone determined to catch a murderer. –Good she doesn't know what I plan to do when I catch him. Cho. Suspicion is an occupational mandate for him. He chose law over gang, so naturally he'd be wary. Rigsby's take is the same as Cho's, except more confused. And Hannigan just hates my guts. Didn't like the mirror I held up to him. Didn't like losing his imagined superiority, the platform for telling me what was best for my life when his own is a mess._ He grinned mirthlessly._ His punch hurt his career more than my nose. Fool._ Jane gently checked out said proboscis and was pleased it barely hurt.

Jane stopped at the same diner for tea and eggs. Letting his mind wander, he was surprised to find he was looking forward to going back, to seeing the same people again. _Get a grip, Paddy. You fancy the company of cops, now? Still, they're honest reads. Not like Sophie's therapeutic cloak. Not the enforced kindness and acceptance of the asylum staff. And certainly not the bizarre mental landscapes of the other inmates. Uh, patients._ He snorted softly to himself, all too aware he was one of them not even a week ago. He finished his tea, paid and was at the CBI building for the start of the workday. He felt a wash of relief at having a reason to be someplace other than Malibu. Lisbon had left word with Security to admit Patrick Jane. Security didn't even realize he was the same guy as yesterday.

**Lisbon**

Lisbon arrived early to catch up on paperwork.

"Lisbon," she answered her phone absently.

"Detective Elliott. Patrick Jane stopped here yesterday. I referred him to the CBI and wanted to give you a heads up."

"Too late," she smiled. "He was here late-morning yesterday."

"Oh. Uh, sorry I didn't call sooner. Got a case."

"That's all right."

"Okay. Well, let me know if there's any way I can help."

"Thank you."

She turned to the current case. Cho was going to interview Kelly Burbage, Dellinger's dinner date. Hopefully that would produce leads on who might have wanted Dellinger dead. Hannigan would check into Winston Dellinger's life and finances. Rigsby would see if threats against Judge Dellinger might be a connection.

**Cho and Jane  
><strong>

"Hi."*

"Hey."* Cho was surprised. He was surprised the victims' relative was back a second day. He was surprised the man had cleaned up. _Thought he was a one-day headache. Wrong. Why?_

** "**It's Kimball Cho, isn't it? Is that after the Kipling character?"* _Most people like talking about themselves- _

"No. Why are you still here?"*

_–but not Kimball Cho. A challenge. "_Agent Lisbon told me to come by. To read the Red John files."*

Rigsby came in. Cho answered his unvoiced question. "Lisbon told him to come by. Read the Red John files."*

"Hi," Jane offered a second time, ignoring the dual unsettled reactions.

Uncertain, "All right. Hi." Rigsby wasn't nearly as tough a nut as Cho.

"Oh, pretend I'm not here."

"Uh, okay."

Rigsby told Cho his interviewee, Kelly Burbage, was waiting for him. Cho left. Jane remained standing in the break area with his tea.

At the awkward thought of Jane standing in front of him all day, Rigsby suggested, "You can take the desk over there. No one's using that." Jane pointed to a desk, Risgby nodded.

Jane walked through the domain of cops and claimed one desk's worth of neutral territory. With the mug of tea, he had a small island of comfort as he waited.

**The Bullpen**

There was no sign of any Red John files. Yet. Jane idly stared out the window and sipped his tea. Listening to the hubbub around him, he couldn't help but pick up facts on the case from snippets of conversation. After Cho's interview - Jane thought he'd really like to see a Cho interview - Kelly Burbage passed by on her way to the elevator. Apparently something she said made them want to bring in an Emmett Cox for questioning. Jane snorted silently._ Lisbon ordered 'full SWAT protocol.' Sounds dangerous. Rough. Exactly Hannigan's kind of–"_

Lisbon's voice interrupted his musings. "Mr. Jane! Mr. Jane."* She motioned him to come over and smiled to cover her dismay at his return. _At least he cleaned up. Mostly._ His suit and shirt were clean and ironed, his hair neat – as much as the curls allowed. He needed a closer shave, although not badly. And his expression was pleasant and neutral ... which she found confusing because there was no reason yesterday's devastated survivor should have changed that much.

Jane took his mug and hurried toward her. "You ‑‑ you can call me Patrick," he offered, instinctively wanting to make the connection, ease the task of getting his way.

"Patrick, have a seat,"* she ushered him into her pretend office and motioned to an old, drab couch. He seated himself in the corner, arms tight to his body, legs close together.

"Thank you."* Taking her in, Jane cleared his throat and sighed. "You were hoping I wouldn't come back."* It wasn't a question.

"Yes. Frankly, I don't think you should look at the files."* Her statement rang of professional conviction and personal sympathy. It didn't have the overtones of superiority and bureaucratic bullying that Hannigan's had the day before.

"Your boss said I could," Jane politely countered. Because he had already won, he acknowledged her point, "-You're right. I should probably just start a new life."* After a moment he added flatly, "I can't."* A fact. As immutable as rock.

"I'll have the files sent up. There's a lot of them. Meanwhile, you stay in here."*

"I don't mind waiting out there. I don't want to be a burden."*

"You're kind of a distraction to the office. No offense, but you have a bit of a homeless vibe about you,"* she said with a half-smile.

"I cleaned up, like you, uh, told me to."*

"It's a process, huh?"* she said and walked off.

He was slightly surprised, a bit amused, and a little chagrined to be called out a second time. The master of control ... apparently was off his game. _I have a ways to go to get my image straight, _he decided. Then he wondered, _And what image _is_ that? No longer psychic. What am I now?_

**The Case**

With nothing to do, Jane began to speculate about why Winston Dellinger was shot dead on a lonely stretch of road, why his car had new collision damage to the right front fender. Dellinger's date Kelly Bubage had come in to the CBI to be interviewed, but showed no sign of guilt or nervousness. Innocent, nice even. Not her. From yesterday, Jane read no guilt in Judge Dellinger for his son's murder ... though he _was_ hiding something important but unknown.

Hannigan and Cho returned with Cox, who was taken to be interrogated by Hannigan. From the little Jane saw, Emmett Cox was hard, tough, negative, and aggressive. What Jane didn't see was guilt. After the interview Hannigan wanted another crack to make him "open up." Lisbon refused on grounds that Cox didn't seem guilty. Jane found it telling that Hannigan didn't even mention guilt.

The pseudo-office-without-real-walls did nothing to block sound. Now interested, Jane stood and consciously listened as the team outlined the fruits of their research. Lisbon and her team noticed his eavesdropping and challenged him. Jane claimed to be stretching his legs. Annoyed, they finished the briefing, doing their best to ignore the interloper.

There appeared to be no connection to any threats made against the judge. The bullet that killed Dellinger matched bullets from an armed robbery case in which the gun hadn't been recovered. A while back, Winston Dellinger had been charged with vehicular manslaughter for hitting and killing Mia Dos Santos while driving drunk. The manslaughter charge was mysteriously dropped. Her husband Christian Dos Santos had made some threats. The SacPD detective handling that case was one Nathaniel Kim.

Lisbon directed Cho to talk to Kim. She would talk to Dos Santos. Regrettably, the Red John files were slow to be delivered because of the remodeling. Much to his surprise, Lisbon had Jane accompany her. He figured she'd rather have him ride along than leave him to his own devices at the CBI, especially with Hannigan in the bullpen.

Even though it didn't relate to the Red John case, Jane was fascinated. Of course he had offered advice to PD's on crimes in the past. But he hadn't had the chance to see how the pieces were gathered and assembled to solve the crime. And, of course, learning how cops found killers was relevant – a burning personal interest now.

The law enforcement process unexpectedly resonated with his "psychic" work. He had funded an affluent lifestyle by reading people, figuring out their stories, and exploiting his insights to provide eerily accurate "psychic" readings. For a lot less money and, he indulged himself, with a lot less talent, these cops did something similar to solve murders.

Jane found Lisbon's interview with Christian Dos Santos and his wife's mother, Mrs. Recinos, unexpectedly personal, intimate. Dos Santos had been angry, made threats, wanted justice for his wife's death. The heavy hand of the law forced him to abandon those ideas. Dos Santos now said that thinking was wrong, stupid. Whether he _believed _that was not so clear.

His mother-in-law, Mrs. Recinos, was not as forgiving. She was outraged that Dellinger had killed her daughter and nothing happened to him. She thought Dos Santos should hurt Dellinger the way he had hurt them. The picture was familiar to Jane. They had experienced what he had a year ago. They had suffered a grievous loss and wanted the perpetrator to suffer the same. If they knew, they would understand the quest he had just undertaken. It was as if humanity was now divided into those _who know,_ _who understand,_ and the rest. The rest lived in blissful ignorance of the bottomless chasm that awaited were they unlucky enough to experience a random evil – or just negligent – act.

Despite the anger still buried within Dos Santos, Jane knew he hadn't killed Dellinger. He and Mrs. Recinos were merely happy someone had.

The team would gather the next morning to take stock.

**Lisbon**

Lisbon again dropped Jane off at the CBI building at the end of the day. She promptly forgot him. Her concerns were the case and her team. The case hadn't yet come together despite the team's diligent work in running down leads. The best shot they had at solving a murder was figuring it out as soon as possible after the event. Each day that passed without solving the case was a step closer to being unable to close it.

Hannigan was her second topic of concern. Again. Increasingly, Lisbon was limiting the tasks she was willing to assign to Hannigan. She had observed Hannigan interrogate Cox because she was unsure how well Hannigan would hold his temper ... and unsure of his instincts. The former was fine. The latter, worrisome. Hannigan wanted a win, a confession. He didn't seem to care whether the guy was guilty. She sighed. _No wonder Hannigan's cases didn't hold up in court. Damn the hiring freeze. Unless I can find some other way of getting a fourth man on my team, I'm stuck with him._

**Jane**

Jane stopped at the same diner for tea and dinner. It occurred to him he must be desperate to establish a routine, restore some kind of certainty to his life. He was sticking with this perfectly ordinary restaurant for no reason other than he had already eaten there. He lingered for a second cup of tea, amusing himself by reading the random strangers. He left when a mother and her young daughter came in. That was too close, too much – at least for now.

A shower and shave later, he had an eternity to kill before he could return to the CBI and, hopefully, get to start on the Red John files. A wildlife special was on and he started watching, only to get lost in his thoughts. Realizing he had missed half of the special, he clicked off the TV and lay back on the bed. Force of habit channeled his thoughts to the people he'd seen related to the case. So far as he could tell, none of them seemed guilty. He was intensely curious about how the cops were going to actually solve the case. After all, he used to make good money being right about ... people._ Something as powerful as guilt for committing murder should be printed on their foreheads with neon ink, metaphorically speaking. Unless none of them did it._ He shrugged. _Interesting, but not my problem._

Jane's thoughts drifted to the other people he'd seen: Lisbon's team. He didn't expect to be in contact with the CBI agents for an extended period. _Read the files, store the information in the memory palace, and do what I need to hunt him down. My efforts will be separate. Can't see the cops helping me get revenge. Still, what if I need information on any new murders? Hm. If I needed to co-opt someone, who? Rigsby would be my best bet._ Jane smiled at the thought. _He was too uncomfortable to let me stand there all day. Could play on that. Cho, on the other hand, is more suspicious than Lisbon. Not him. As for Lisbon, she doesn't want me to read the files, much less hunt the killer. _He flatly dismissed Hannigan, having already wasted more time on him than he was worth.

He scrunched down in bed a little more, and consciously relaxed. There was something niggling at the back of his mind from the day. _Now, what was it?_ He stiffened as it came to him. _Lisbon. When we saw Dos Santos and Mrs. Recinos, Lisbon reacted. Her father was no prize, but – there was something about a drunk Dellinger driving and killing that young mother of three. _He exhaled slowly. _Got it. Her mother was killed by a drunk driver. She was left ... and some siblings. She would have been the oldest._ He blinked as the woman cop suddenly came into sharper focus._ Early tragedy, abusive father, heavy responsibilities much too young. No wonder._

He slept a couple of hours on separate occasions. Once again he looked forward to what the next day would reveal. The Red John files, hopefully. Developments on the who dunnit. And the familiar faces of Lisbon's team.


	8. Chapter 8 - Pseudo Psychic

**A/N: Passages marked with an asterisk are quoted verbatim from the "Red Dawn" episode of The Mentalist.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: Pseudo Psychic<strong>

**Jane - 2 A.M.**

_Black. Smothering, choking, airless. World without light, comfort. Red. Remembered scent of blood. Grief. Guilt. Hope. Hope he would be found, made to pay. Hope gone. Drowning in sorrow. Madness._

Jane sat bolt upright, trembling and covered in sweat. He gulped great breaths and struggled to break free from the emotional aftermath, desperately clinging to the foothold on sanity he and Sophie Miller had carved. He clicked on a lamp and shakily got up. He splashed cold water on his face, then heated water and made tea.

This was an all too familiar nightmare, though not his worst. "Worst" was reserved for re‑living coming home to their bodies, discovering what his arrogance had wrought. No, this was only about after the funeral.

After the funeral, there was nothing and no one. Once the bodies were interred, family and the few friends left to resume their lives. He drove away his manager and publicist, threatening them harm if they showed up. They were part of his former life, the life that killed his family. He met weekly with SacPD Detective Elliott about the case. (Elliott flatly refused to meet oftener.) Depression alternated with frenzied activity. He scrubbed the master bedroom spotless, leaving only the mark on the wall as punishment and a reminder (as though he_ could_ forget). He scrubbed it again. He obsessively watched the local news, skimmed three daily papers for stories about the murderer, and haunted the library for old news stories. He emptied the house of everything. He left while professional movers boxed and stored personal effects. Everything else went to charity. It was excruciating to remember watching TV on the couch with his family, enjoying a meal at the dining room table, playing games with Charlotte on the rug, making love to Angela in their bed. His last memory of them was that bed covered with gore and their terribly mutilated bodies. Once the cops finished collecting evidence, he had the bed hauled off and burned. His last point of hope disappeared when he realized the PD was getting no closer to an arrest. Drinking, raging at the murderer, not eating, excoriating himself for their deaths... Always alone.

Accumulated mail tipped off neighbors, who called 9-1-1. He was found emaciated, dehydrated and catatonic. The first outrage was being compelled to live as the local hospital addressed his physical condition. Next was the horror of being involuntarily committed to a mental asylum. Treatment necessitated repeatedly reliving, discussing, dissecting that night and everything that led to it, everything that made up his worthless life to that point. The drugs that disrupted his desire to die made it impossible to think clearly, impossible to control his emotions despite feeling weirdly numb. Sophie Miller was persistent, insistent, impossible to shut out. He was _forced_ to think about the murders and his role in them, forced to listen to sacrilege about how it wasn't his fault, forced to face living when it was what he wanted least. The final indignity was continuing to live. Since he was forced to live, he took Miller's advice to fight back. Life could be endured if he used it to avenge his innocent family.

He finished his tea just after 3 a.m. Too early to do anything, he took the pills that sometimes worked well enough to yield sleep without nightmares.

**Jane - 6 A.M.**

Still drained from the nightmare and groggy from sleeping pills, Jane woke and showered. The routine was steadying, comforting, _normal_. He brushed his damp hair and used the electric shaver. He wrinkled his nose at it in distaste. No matter what the advertising claimed, he never got a close shave with one. His ... former self wouldn't have tolerated such poor grooming. The electric shaver was left over from the asylum where patients weren't permitted razors. _Got to get a real shaving kit soon,_ he muttered to himself. He checked himself out in the bathroom mirror. _Good enough. Should ward off any more snarky comments from Lady Cop In Charge._

A wave of relief passed through him. He had the beginnings of a routine. He had a _reason_ to be somewhere. He had a start on _doing something_ about his family's murder – or at least murderer – once he got the files. However hollow he felt, this was vastly better than his existence after the funeral. It didn't strike him as odd that seeking to kill someone was his connection to living.

Jane forced away the dark thoughts and drove to the diner for breakfast. As is true for anyone after being institutionalized, he relished being able to choose his food, get his preferred tea, eat well‑prepared eggs. Although he lived on the lip of an abyss, the small, everyday pleasures reminded him that the abyss was not the whole world - not even _his_ whole world anymore.

**The Bullpen**

Jane exited the elevator on the 5th floor of the CBI building. He braved the gantlet to reach "his" desk in the bullpen, past stares wary, uncomfortable but indifferent, and sneeringly hostile. He sat and sipped tea, outwardly the embodiment of relaxed ease.

Lisbon entered the bullpen, fresh from meeting with Minelli. Her team didn't have to wonder too hard about the point of _that_ meeting. The son of a judge was murdered. There would be all sorts of pressure to solve it and solve it fast.

"What have we got?"* she asked, team arranged around her.

Rigsby started. "Ran Christian Dos Santos. No arrests, but he's had trouble at work since his wife died. Issues with customers. He's taking an anger management course."*

"And what about the judge?"*

Cho answered, "Checked his bank accounts. No significant money transfers when the murder charge was withdrawn. If he paid someone off, there's no sign of it."*

Hannigan had nothing to add, but glanced resentfully at Jane for listening in.

Rigsby added, "Still no sign of where Winston Dellinger's car had an accident the night he was killed. There's some uniforms out there looking for debris."*

"That's it?"*

Rigsby, apologetically, "Well, it's a hard case, boss."*

Lisbon took a breath. "Let's start from the top. Bring in everybody involved in the case. We'll hear their stories again. Maybe something will shake loose."*

"Will do," Rigsby affirmed for all three.

They started to gather their papers and pull the phone numbers for the involved persons. The team would have to agree on a time for them all to appear in case information from one generated questions for another. They were interrupted.

"First batch of Red John. Where do you want 'em?"* cheerily asked the courier from CBI file storage.

"Uh, you can just leave it there,"* answered Lisbon.

Jane was instantly pulled upright, like a marionette with a steel cable attached to his spine. His every fiber centered on the boxes. Three long strides took him to the courier. He firmly took possession of the top box and returned to the desk, total focus on the contents.

"Eager beaver, huh?"* the courier asked with a grin.

Dread was the agents' answering reaction. They just witnessed a terrible thing. Jane's polite, tentative, defererential demeanor had vanished, revealing a determined, grievously scarred survivor obsessed with the killer of his family. This was a train wreck in slow motion.

Lisbon gathered herself first. The thought had occurred to her on the way in. Jane was a fresh pair of eyes with a wildly different background and perspective. He had seen almost all the involved people, heard all their research. One example after another revealed an extraordinary ability to read people. Maybe he could be useful as well as a burden. She walked over to the civilian.

"Mr. Jane, before you get into that, I wanted to ask a favor. I need your help."*

**Cho and Rigsby**

Rigsby took a bite, "My two can come in this afternoon. You?"

"Burbage, yes. Waiting on Kim. Lisbon's asking the judge."

"Hannigan's got Cox coming in." The foil bag rattled as he took a handful of Cho's chips. Cho took the bag back. Rigsby sighed, "No motive, no suspect. We're dead in the water."

"Why we're bringing them back."

After a moment he changed the subject. "Did you get a look at Jane when the files got here? Like he's a different guy."

"Yeah." Cho looked dour.

Rigsby nodded. "What do you think?"

"Loose cannon. Not good."

"So he reads the files, maybe talks to someone involved with the case. What's the harm?"

Cho scowled at his partner. "Thought you saw him. He's determined to kill the bastard."

Rigsby swallowed half of his taco. "Think so?"

"Yeah. Saw guys like that in Iraq. He's trouble."

Rigsby exhaled and frowned. "But then what was that with the boss?"

"Asking him for help?"

"Uh-huh."

Cho shook his head. "Don't know. Must think he could be useful."

"Do you?"

Cho uncharacteristically ducked the question. "Lisbon has good instincts."

They finished their lunch in plenty of time. They'd be back before the people associated with the Dellinger case arrived at the CBI.

**Jane**

Jane reluctantly replaced the lid on the file box. A little dazed, he walked to the elevator, not noticing the agents' glances. He took it down, and walked outside. He paused in the bright sun and faced the warmth, eyes closed. For a winter day, it was unseasonably bright and mild. Jane chose a direction at random and took a walk.

Somehow he had agreed to help. _Try to help, _he amended.

Lisbon's request startled him. He was a civilian, a sketchy interloper in California's premier law enforcement bureau. No training, not even a wannabe cop when he was a carny kid. _What the hell can I contribute? _Through the white static of his confusion, he dimly recalled Lisbon saying something about reading people, insight. He tilted his head and shrugged a little. _Okay. Yeah, I can see that. I read people._ As he walked farther, he decided he could tell Lisbon his impressions. _Hell, I was amusing myself wondering who dunnit, anyhow. So I give her my ideas. No sweat._

That left the more troubling question. _Why did I agree? Nothing in it for me..._ As he walked he chided himself for his well-known weakness for women. For kind, honest women so much like his mother, Samantha, and (he swallowed roughly) Angela. And so _un_like his ass of a father. It occurred to him that since he had left Sophie at the asylum, Lisbon was the ... _only_ person to have a real conversation with him. Baiting Hannigan, ordering dinner, making small talk with Cho didn't count. _Interesting._

He glanced through a storefront window at a clock and realized he'd have to get back. _Take a look, tell Lisbon, and then start on the Red John files._ A shiver of eagerness and foreboding went through him at the thought. He set it aside. _The files waited this long, they can wait a few more hours._

**The Reading**

Lisbon lead Jane into a darkened room, the other side of a one-way mirror featured in a thousand crime dramas. _Cool. Don't have to avoid staring as I read them, _he thought looking at five slightly familiar faces plus one he hadn't seen before.

"Okay. Everybody involved in the Dellinger murder is in that room. One of them is very likely lying. One of them is very likely the murderer,"* she opened.

"Wow."* _Will finally see it solved. Neat._

"What I'd like you to do is go in there, take a look at all of them, and tell me if you can spot the liar."*

He could only think, _Psychic reading for a live audience_. "Me?"* he asked, astonished, reluctant.

"You seem to have a gift."*

His chest constricted painfully, "I told you, I'm not a psychic. I'm a charlatan. You hear me? I-I-I'm a fraud."*

"I believe you. But whatever it is, it's a gift. I figure, why not use it?"* she said intensely, willing him to do it.

Faintly, "I can't,"* he breathed, knees threatening to buckle at the thought.

"We're kind of at a standstill here," she pleaded. "Come on,"* she urged, motioning him out. He took a deep breath and followed her into the adjacent room, compelled by his earlier promise.

"Hello, everybody,"* Lisbon greeted. Thinking on her feet, "Um, this is Patrick Jane. He's a consultant with the CBI. Before we start the interviews, he's gonna –"* she drew a blank, "-we'll see what he's gonna do. Mr. Jane?"* She tossed it to him and hoped he could catch.

Jane stood stiff, the loathed voice of his father in his head, _Fake it if you have to, Paddy, but do _something_. Gotta fool the marks. _ "Hi, folks. Quick question ‑‑ which one of you killed Winston Dellinger?"* He leaned forward peering at the six faces.

A chorus of irritated voices arose from the six. Disbelief radiated off Cho and Rigsby as they stood off to the side.

"-Oh, come on. This is ridiculous."*

"-What?! ‑-I'm not gonna sit here and listen to this."*

"-Is he serious?"*

Lisbon's heart caught in her throat in embarrassment, then she took control again. "Everybody just calm down, please. That was worth a try. Uh, Agents Cho and Rigsby will proceed with the interviews. Thank you very much."* She turned away as her agents moved to shepherd the six to interrogation rooms.

Cho spoke deferentially, "Judge, if you'll come with me."* The agents would each interview different people to get a fresh take.

Taking advantage of the commotion of chairs sliding back and people making idle comments, Jane caught Lisbon's elbow, leaned close and spoke quietly, "Uh, wait a minute. I think I know who did it."*

"You sure?"* _Has to be certain or it will be a disaster._

"Pretty sure."*

_In for a penny, in for a pound._ Lisbon gritted her teeth and reversed herself. Loudly, "If everybody could just please sit back down. My apologies. _Please_."* Then, aside to Jane again, "‑‑You are _absolutely_ sure?"* she probed anxiously.

"Uh, 70%,"* he answered distractedly, not noticing her blanch. Urgently, "You have tarot cards?"*

Shocked, "-Tarot cards?! - N-o-o,"* she answered with a sinking feeling. _Oh, God. Carnival sideshow. How the hell will I explain this?_

"Uh, ladies and gentlemen, um, I -‑ I'm sorry for, uh, for wasting your time. If, uh–"* Jane started uncertainly. Cho and Rigsby leaned against a wall, arms crossed. The most they could manage was to suspend judgment on Lisbon's Hail Mary play.

The judge interjected, angry and annoyed. "I've had more than enough of this. Agent Lisbon, really? This is outrageous!"*

Cox seconded, "Tell him, Judge."*

Jane desperately scrambled to regain control. He stepped forward and straightened. "Just one moment more. There's something I wanna show you. Something you might find _amazing_."* He mentally winced, _Wrong appeal, wrong word._

"I used to be a psychic. I used to read minds, talk to dead people."* Pause for effect. "Only I didn't. _Of course_ I didn't, 'cause there's no such thing as psychics or mediums. Or at least I've never met one."* He calmed and projected force, knowledge._ I can do this._ "Psychic powers are just tricks. They're mind games. It's observation."* With conviction, "_But it works._ There's a killer in this room, and I'm gonna use pseudo‑psychic powers to persuade that killer to confess."* _There. Basic pitch. Now just keep control and run with it._

"This is bull!"* said the unfamiliar one, Kim. Kim and Cox rose to leave.

Cuttingly, "Shortcut method ‑‑ the first person to leave did it!"* His voice halted them like a whip. Jane knew crowd control before he could shave. Voice commanding, compelling, gaining confidence as he continued, "Now like I say, there's no such thing as psychics. Let's be clear about that. But the human mind is amazingly powerful. It can do things for real that sometimes feel like magic. And I wanna show you."*

He turned to a nearby table stacked with office supplies and grabbed a marker and wad of index cards. "Now, normally, I would use Tarot cards for this."* He sharply tapped the cards straight, no hint of uncertainty remaining. He started drawing quickly. "But, uh, in this case, these will have to do, as long as you're all willing to use a little imagination."* The pen scratched. He kept up the patter, careful not to lose them while he drew. "Bear with me."*

Jane finished drawing and handed the cards to Lisbon. "Agent Lisbon, if you could, uh, mix those cards up thoroughly, please. Thank you for your patience,"* he directed toward the six. "I'll take 'em. Thank you."* He tossed the cards on the conference table in a couple of piles.

"Now I would like you, without looking, to choose a card, face‑down. But first ‑‑ and this is very important ‑‑ before you take the card, I'd like you to close your eyes and I'd like you to think about the last scary dream you had."* He ignored the scoffing from a few of the six. "Remember the last time you woke up shivering with fear."* Cho kicked Rigsby's ankle as his partner closed _his_ eyes. _Crazy, but interesting, _Cho allowed. _Good line of bull._

"Got it? Good. Thank you. Open your eyes. Take a card. Keep it face‑down. Keep your hand on top of it. Thank you."* Jane waited till each of the six had a card. "Now here's the thing ‑‑ you think you just made a random pick. Where, in fact, your subconscious mind made a very meaningful choice. And this is how the killer will be revealed."* Jane plotted his approach, deciding to start with the ones he already _knew_ didn't do it. He had subtly marked the back of each card with a fingernail impression. All he had to do was come up with a riff of convincing patter that would fit.

"Mrs. Recinos, you dreamt that your daughter was falling into a very dark place, and you couldn't stop her. You called out that you loved her, but she couldn't hear you."*

"Yes,"* she breathed in wonder, confusion.

"And that's why you chose - the lovers."* Jane flipped her card, revealing entwined hearts.

Recinos gasped and muttered in Spanish.

Jane walked a few paces past Dos Santos. "Judge Dellinger, you dreamt of death. And you chose death."* The judge's card revealed the crude drawing of a skull.

Jane next moved to Burbage. "Kelly, you can't shake the idea that you'll never find true love. And you picked-"* He held her card for all to see without looking himself, "-the fool."* Her card showed the court jester, the fool.

She gasped. "How do you do that?"*

Jane next moved to one of the men who could possibly be the murderer, the one he hadn't seen before. "Mr. Kim. You have a lot of scary dreams. But you can't remember them. However, you're a cop. So you think the rules don't apply to you."* Jane left it ambiguous. He wouldn't know about Kim till after Dos Santos and, especially, Cox. "And you chose the magician,"* flipping the card. No one saw him then palm that card and substitute another as he replaced it face down on the table.

Kim commented, unimpressed, "Neat trick."*

"Yes, just a trick."* Jane moved back around the table. "Mr. Dos Santos, you dream of being trapped. Caged like an animal. And you dream of a terrible, violent escape. You picked - the devil."* He revealed the picture, holding it for all to see. The two women gasped.

"None of that's true,"* Dos Santos objected. By then, Jane had the other five roped in, buying it. _They_ dismissed Dos Santos's denial.

He moved to the final one of the six. "And, Mr. Cox. You constantly dream of all the people you've hurt coming back to seek revenge. And guess what? They have the same dream."* He was certain now. He read no guilt in Cox. "You chose the hanged man.–"* Jane revealed the picture then paused, seemingly puzzled. "Uh, actually that's not right,"* he said, looking at the magician card. "Uh, Mr. Kim had that card."* Jane returned to Kim's side and flipped the card. It was the hanged man. "Ah. Ah‑ha."* he said, portentously.

Kim, confused, "What's that supposed to mean? "*

With a silky voice of conviction, "It means you killed Winston Dellinger."* He crouched by Kim's side, the better to catch his eyes, hold his gaze.

Kim tried to scoff, "Yeah, right. Give me a break."* The others looked around in confusion. Judge Dellinger was angry, stone-faced.

Jane pressed his advantage, "No. No break. You did it. The subconscious mind never lies. Your guilt is written on that card. And written all over your face."*

Kim paled, protested, "No. No, I -‑ I didn't. Come on,"* he pleaded. "It's a card trick!"**

Jane's voice was mesmerizing, gaze unwavering. "Yes, it was. But when I said I could use your choice of card to reveal the killer, you looked a little worried. For a split second. Just you. And then you looked relieved when I couldn't read your dream. And then when you saw the hanged man, the blood drained from your face."*

More agitated, "No. No, this is ridiculous."* Cho and Rigsby exchanged glances, astonished it was working.

Jane continued, unperturbed. "Everyone can see your guilt. But what I can't see is your motive,"* he continued, weaving a web of remorse and shame. "Why, Nathaniel? Why did you kill him?"* Commanding, "_Look at me._ Why, Nathaniel? You seem like a good person. You come from good people. Why'd you kill him?"*

Kim's face crumpled in guilt and pain and shame.

Jane stood and straightened. To himself as much as the agents, "‑‑Well, I'll be damned. That's your man, Agent Lisbon."* Jane backed away, pointing at Kim. "That's your man."* A ghost of a smile flitted across his face, competing with surprise and satisfaction.

**Kim**

Broken, Kim confessed to Cho shortly afterward in interrogation. Kim knew the incriminating evidence would surface once the focus was on him. The bar Kim owned was absolved of a lawsuit by Judge Dellinger. In return, Kim falsified evidence in the death of Mia Dos Santos. Winston Dellinger had been charged with involuntary manslaughter for killing Mia Dos Santos while driving drunk, but the charge was dropped because Kim falsified some evidence. Four days ago, Winston Dellinger called Kim in a panic, believing he again had hit a person while driving drunk. Realizing he would forever be cleaning up Dellinger's drunken messes, Kim killed him on that lonely road. It turned out Dellinger had hit a deer.

**Lisbon**

Lisbon was amazed, impressed, relieved. Her crazy gamble paid off. Not only was the Dellinger case solved, she bagged a corrupt cop and corrupt judge. Everyone in law enforcement hated dirty cops and judges with a passion. This was a huge win for her team.

**Jane**

Jane was stunned that he solved the murder with his tricks and skills. He made tea and sat alone in the bullpen to reflect. This was the first useful thing he had done in a year. It was his first inkling that the skills and talents he used to trick and defraud could be used for something else, for something good. It was overwhelming. He unconsciously found his way back to the motel room, Red John files forgotten for the moment.

**Rigsby and Cho**

Rigsby couldn't wait to talk to Cho when they left for the day.

"Kim gave you a full confession? _And_ implicated the judge?!"

"Everything."

Rigsby just about pranced around his slower moving partner. "And Jane did this with card tricks and – and –"

"Stage presence," Cho supplied.

"Jesus, let's bottle that and use it for all our cases."

Cho stopped walking and faced Rigsby. "_Think_, Rigsby. He's a con man."

Rigsby shook his head. "He handed us a conviction – two convictions – on a platter. I say whatever works."

They reached O'Malley's, claimed a booth and ordered. Some of his excitement burned off, Rigsby lowered his voice. "I don't even know how he did it. –I mean, uh, you don't think he's really–"

Irritated, "No. That's one thing he said that's true. No psychics. It was a trick."

Rigsby took his first sip of beer. "You're so certain. How'd he do it?"

Cho sat back and sipped his own beer. After a few minutes. "Not a hundred percent sure, but it had to be something like this. –Jane's been tagging along all week. He knows our evidence and got a look at everyone but Kim. He rules out the women and judge. Maybe just probabilities, maybe he 'read' them. That leaves the three younger men. He started his - his performance on the easy ones. Recinos, the judge, and Burbage. By then, they're buying it. Then he takes his first crack at Kim, but isn't sure–"

"What about the cards. Uh, the magician and it turned into the hangman."

"He palmed the magician card and substituted the hangman. With the cards face down, no one would know."

"So?"

"So he looks at Dos Santos again to rule him out. –Remember, Jane was with Lisbon when she interviewed him."

"And that leaves Cox and Kim." Rigsby shrugged, his own training kicking back in. "They would be the two most likely anyhow."

"Uh-huh. He focuses on Cox, who doesn't seem guilty to him. That leaves Kim. All the card crap just upped the pressure to rattle Kim."

"And boy did it work," said Rigsby, admiringly. "So you think Jane knew ahead of time it was him?"

"Suspected. He operates on percentages, then pushes and pressures to trip someone up."

"See why he was a TV celebrity. What if he really did consult for us?"

Cho scowled. "He's a con man. A smart one, meaning a dangerous one. We could never trust him."

"So?"

"What if he got it wrong?

Rigsby sat back, thinking about the downside for the first time. "Huh. Not so good."

"He'll be gone soon as he's done with the files."

Wistfully, "Geez. One helluva shortcut to solving the case, though."

They left it at that and enjoyed dinner. It was an amazing end to the case, but Jane would be gone soon and things would be back to normal.


	9. Chapter 9 - Be Careful What You Ask For

**A/N: Passages marked with an asterisk are quoted verbatim from the "Red Dawn" episode of The Mentalist.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9: Be Careful What You Ask For<strong>

**Minelli and Lisbon**

It was a half-hour before the start of the workday. Three minutes flat after being summoned, Lisbon walked up to the doorway to Minelli's office and paused, waiting. He looked up from a report and motioned for her to enter and sit. He leaned back in his chair, weathered face unreadable.

"Care to explain yourself, Agent?"

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Yes, sir. My team closed the Winston Dellinger case. We have Nathaniel Kim in custody for his murder. Kim's confession implicated another man in falsifying evidence in a vehicular manslaughter case. He is also in custody."

Minelli's face relaxed, pleased she stood up for herself. Wryly, "You just 'forgot' to mention the second man is Appellate Court Judge Dellinger. You uncovered and arrested a corrupt cop and a corrupt judge. And solved the murder. Not bad for a week's work."

Lisbon relaxed, posture softening from "at attention" to merely "alert." Cautiously, "It – it's okay, then?"

"Just what 'it' are we talking about? Passing a con man off as a CBI consultant? Letting him use Tarot cards of all things to identify the murderer and set up his confession? Giving a civilian access to confidential information as you work the case?"

"I think that covers it, sir," she said stiffly.

"Lisbon, Lisbon," he said, shaking his head. "I _told_ you I hired you to shake up the CYA culture around here. I couldn't _buy_ this kind of kick in the ass for the bureau if I paid for it myself." His chronic grumpiness fell away and he grinned. "Nice work."

"Thank you." She looked at him skeptically, waiting for the other shoe to drop. _Minelli didn't call me up here to pat me on the head. What?_

Minelli lit a cigarette, well into his two-pack-a-day habit. "I need a candid reaction. I'm thinking of hiring Patrick Jane as a CBI consultant."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Uh-h-h–" she said intelligently.

"Let me be blunt. Will you work with him as a consultant on your team?"

Eyes narrowed, she sensed a trap. "Would he fill my last agent position?"

"Yes he would."

She leaned back, implications racing through her mind. "If he counts as filling my last position, could we work fresh cases if it were just Cho, Rigsby, Jane and me?"

The corner of Minelli's mouth quirked up in a cynical smile. "Tired of Hannigan?"

Smoothly, "I don't think Hannigan would be comfortable working with Jane. Bad blood."

"Nice save, Lisbon," Minelli snorted. "I assume you mean Jane is your golden opportunity to get rid of Hannigan."

Protecting her own was intrinsic, including even Hannigan. She sat quietly, unable to disagree and unwilling to agree.

He let it go. "Okay, Lisbon. I'm aware Hannigan isn't much of a cop now – if he ever was. He was just the best of a bad bunch to fill out your team." He sat silently and took a few drags on his cigarette. "Did you learn anything from taking on Hannigan?"

She met his gaze, answered, "Yes," and clamped her mouth shut, unwilling to say more.

Minelli looked at her. Satisfied she had learned, he didn't press. He switched gears, "How about Cho? And Rigsby? –You recruited them. Fallout?"

Lisbon leaned back, considering for a moment. "Both care about nailing the perps. I think they're flexible enough if Jane is useful enough."

Minelli grunted. "I'll let you know Jane's answer." She got up to leave but paused at his parting comment. Softly, "Another high risk, high reward situation, Teresa. Better be sure you're up to it." He didn't point out that Jane was the same high risk, high reward situation she had already taken on.

"I am."

**Minelli and Jane**

Patrick Jane walked through the metal detector, retrieved his pocket change, and stepped over to the CBI security desk, driver's license ready.

The guard glanced at the photo ID. "Mr. Jane, I was asked to escort you directly to Director Minelli's office. This way, please." He nodded to the other guard, "Be back in five, Thompson."

Minelli's door was open. Jane walked in and seated himself, crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. Minelli looked up and also leaned back, letting the silence stretch to over a minute. Minelli hadn't seen Jane since the first day, after Hannigan's assault. _What the hell?!_ He looked over the well‑groomed, perfectly at ease man in front of him. Jane's slight presumptuousness of seating himself hadn't gone unnoticed. _How does he go from barely holding it together to calm and self-possessed that fast?_ He could believe this man capable of getting a murderer's confession.

Finally, "Mr. Jane, thank you for coming up."

Jane smiled. "My pleasure. Though my preferences didn't seem to be relevant."

"They weren't." Minelli took a sip of coffee, decided against offering any to Jane. _He doesn't need to be put at ease. Cocky enough already._ "I understand you helped identify Winston Dellinger's murderer yesterday."

His smile widened. "Yes, I did."

"How did that come about?"

"Agent Lisbon asked me to help." After a moment, "Which you already know."

Minelli smiled a little, then tapped out a new cigarette and lit it. "What do you think of the experience?"

Jane leaned forward. "It was fine. But I am here to read the Red John files. As you offered."

"Yes, I did," Minelli echoed Jane from earlier. Jane leaned back as soon as Minelli acknowledged that offer, confirmed that it still stood. "And your thoughts about helping with the case?"

Jane looked perplexed for a moment – it suddenly struck Minelli that _any_ expression was deliberate, calculated. "It was fascinating to see how cases are investigated and solved."

"Fascinating enough to work on more cases?"

Jane's eyebrows rose. Minelli had the impression that, though calculated, it expressed honest surprise. "Perhaps."

Minelli stubbed his cigarette out. Drawing a breath, "Mr. Jane, you seem to have a ... talent for reading people and picking up clues that even trained agents miss. I'd like you to consult for the CBI."

Expression bland and neutral. "That's interesting. What exactly would I be expected to do?"

"Pretty much the same kinds of things you did this week shadowing Lisbon's team. Come to work daily, work on cases as directed by Agent Lisbon."

"Director Minelli, that seems like an extraordinary vote of confidence for a largely unknown _civilian_."

"Not so unknown, Mr. Jane. Your work for several California PD's has provided useful insights and leads. You have no criminal record – at least not within the last decade. And, you seem to be taking a ... leave from your previous occupation as a TV celebrity." At the last, a shadow flitted across Jane's face. This time Minelli thought it might be involuntary, a real emotion.

Carefully, "The offer is to consult for the CBI, working for Senior Agent Lisbon on her cases in whatever capacity she deems appropriate?"

"Yes. In return for a $5,000 monthly retainer. Plus expenses, of course."

Jane waved that aside, uninterested. "Who has the Red John case?"

"Lisbon."

"And I would get to 'consult' on any new Red John murders?"

"Yes, as deemed appropriate by Agent Lisbon."

Jane leaned back and smiled a full smile. It was blinding and magnetic. "I accept your offer."

Minelli's unwavering gaze held for a moment. "Agent Lisbon is a rising star at the CBI. She is probably the only unit head with the flexibility to take on a ... civilian like you, Mr. Jane. Please keep in mind you have a stake in making this work." Minelli started tapping out another cigarette.

"I'll do that. I also realize my value to the CBI may lie in more than one area."

Minelli paused a second, startled. _Damn. Picked that up, did he?_ Minelli tossed down the pack of cigarettes, mumbling, "Gotta break this habit. Someday."

Jane looked down at the pack. "Someday, maybe I can help you with that."

Confused, Minelli frowned but let it go. Both men rose and shook hands. "My assistant Chris will take you to Human Resources to get set up. Report to Lisbon when you're done."

Jane left trailing Chris with a fox-who-ate-the-chicken smile on his face.

Minelli picked up the pack, started tapping out the cigarette again, then tossed it aside in disgust. _This is going to be one helluva consultant. Hope the connection is worth it._

**Lisbon and Hannigan**

"Hannigan, observation 3." She got fresh coffee and walked to the observation room. Her office was useless for privacy. She sat, then motioned Hannigan to a chair when he came in.

"Yeah, Boss?" he asked, sitting down heavily, wondering why she might be p.o.'d at him now. _We just closed the case. Even if she did involve that con man prick._

"Minelli is hiring Patrick Jane as a CBI consultant." She paused, taking in his reaction. _Not pleased. No surprise. Let's see how he wants to play it._

"What's it to me?" Other than a fleeting frown, Hannigan managed to control his reaction.

"Minelli is assigning him to the SCU."

"Boss! He's a con man. Unqualified. Nothin' but trouble." His scowl made his position clear.

She took a breath. "Nevertheless, he _is_ assigned to us. Aside from Dellinger, he's helped several PD's with cases. He's useful."

"He baited me," Hannigan protested in a low growl.

She shook her head once. "I didn't see it. Regardless, there wouldn't be a problem if you hadn't assaulted him." After a pause, "I'm letting you know in private as a courtesy. I expect you to work with him just like anyone else on the team."

He huffed, "That all?"

"Yes." The door banged as he abruptly got up and left.

It took 27 minutes for Human Resources to inform her that Hannigan applied to work for another team. The grapevine informed her that Krause had finally been awarded duty-related long term disability status, thus freeing the position Hannigan would take. Hannigan also filed a complaint with the union rep about an unqualified, non-union person taking a position that rightfully should be reserved for bona fide agents. When she called, Minelli was distinctly underwhelmed, and assured her Hannigan would shortly be dropping his complaint.

**Lisbon's Team**

Patrick Jane didn't show until mid-afternoon. Lisbon was talking with Cho and Rigsby as Jane stepped off the elevator.

"So Minelli really hired this Jane guy?"* Rigby asked, surprised.

"Well, he exposed a corrupt cop, dethroned a judge. Those are all major points for us. As far as Minelli's concerned, he's a hero,"* Lisbon replied.

"And, uh, does Hannigan know about this?"*

"Yeah. He doesn't want to work with Jane, so he's transferring to another unit."* Lisbon was both amused and regretful that neither Rigsby nor Cho showed the slightest bit of disappointment in that. _Shows it's the right move. If my team is ever gonna gel._

Cho finally weighed in, "Any idea who's gonna replace Hannigan?"* He was tired of Hannigan slacking off but was uncertain about Jane. _Hannigan's no loss, but who knows how much the con man will contribute. Damn sure I don't want just three of us doing it all._

"Don't know yet. There's a new class of trainees coming up. Maybe we'll get one of them. Files are right there if you wanna take a look."* She thought to add, "As always, treat personnel info as private." She rose and stepped out of her office.

Picking up some files, Rigsby showed one to Cho, "Like this one."*

Cho bit his cheek at the picture of a gorgeous redhead. "She's cute. And out of your league."*

Lisbon intercepted Jane, who was standing near the bullpen, smoothing his new CBI consultant ID on his suit jacket.

"Mr. Jane. Welcome aboard."

"Thank you. Uh, if there's no case, I wonder if–"

"The Red John files?" He nodded. "One last time‑‑ are you sure you wanna do this?"*

"Yes, I am."*

Resigned, "Okay. I tried."*

"You did. Thank you."* Surprised, Lisbon stiffened when Jane stepped forward and hugged her. After a moment she awkwardly patted his back. He released her and stepped back.

They made their way to a storage room and she clicked on a light. A conference table occupied the scant free space near the door. A dozen storage boxes covered the table.

"Here you go. I'm going home. If you need me to explain anything, give me a call."* Lisbon gave him her phone number, turned and left. The storage room was dim and the building rapidly emptied out at the end of the day on Friday. He knew he was just projecting his own feelings, but somehow, the boxes carried a weight, captured a burden of grief and malevolence that permeated the semi-dark room. At random, he opened a box and took a file. He began to read and idly backed up and leaned on an old leather couch up-ended for storage.

**Minelli**

Minelli was just finishing up paperwork that couldn't wait over the weekend. He was startled, not expecting a call after the end of the workday and workweek.

"Yes?"*

"Virgil Minelli?"*

"Yes. Who's this?"*

"Alexa Shultz, FBI. We met at the forensics conference in Roanoke."*

"Director Shultz. What a pleasure to hear from you,"* Minelli said, not bothering to hide his cool reaction to the unexpected call.

"I understand the CBI has hired a new consultant, a man named Patrick Jane?"* Her voice was soft and honey sweet. Cloying.

"Yes. I'm surprised you know. I didn't realize you followed our hiring that closely,"* his tone slightly mocking.

"Mr. Jane is connected to a case we're interested in. The serial killer known as 'Red John.' I'm, um, calling to ask a favor."*

"What's that?"*

"I would appreciate updates on the Red John case. That way, when my boss asks me what's going on, I have something to tell him."*

Dryly, "To put it bluntly, Alexa, why would I do that? What's in it for me?"*

"It's useful to have a friend in the FBI, isn't it? And I'm a good friend,"* she purred.

"Well, I'm a great believer in inter‑agency cooperation. I don't see why we couldn't engage in some."* This was intriguing enough to interest him.

"I look forward to it, Virgil. Oh, by the way, one thing you might want to know about Patrick Jane. –You know how he's been out of sight in the past year? You know where he's been?"*

"No."*

"An insane asylum. Good luck."*

Minelli set his phone down gently. _What the hell was that about? The Feebs are interested in Red John, but especially in Jane. Why? Since when does a Federal agency care about a local serial killer? ... Insane asylum, huh? Not hard to believe after ... that slaughter. Since when does the FBI monitor a private citizen whose family was murdered? Can't be everyone connected to Red John, so why Jane in particular?_ Minelli neatly organized the files and papers on his desk, too distracted by the call to do any more. _Have to keep an eye on Jane. Lisbon deserves a heads up, too. ... Try to get something out of Shultz about their involvement._

He clicked off his desk lamp, straightened, then paused. _Just as well I've tied Patrick Jane to the CBI. Jane's family is the _only_ link we have, the only murder with a known personal connection to Red John. Jane is the loose thread that might lead us to him. Sooner or later, we _will_ get the bastard._

A chill ran down his back. Somewhere in his tough, practical, experienced psyche, it registered that hiring Patrick Jane had linked the CBI to a vicious, preternaturally successful serial killer. Minelli shrugged it off. It was a cold winter night. That's all.


	10. Chapter 10 - Getting Acquainted

**A/N: Passages marked with an asterisk are quoted verbatim from the "Red Dawn" episode of The Mentalist.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10: Getting Acquainted<strong>

**Jane**

Jane gave up at 4 a.m. His burning determination to hunt the serial killer couldn't overcome the revulsion and exhaustion of a dozen hours focused on slaughtered innocents. He had gotten through just three of the twelve boxes of files – one box per victim, plus general case notes made by the four(!) teams that previously worked on Red John. Surprisingly, there were now 11 Red John murders – another occurred when he was in the asylum. He wondered if Lisbon or Minelli noticed his error when they talked after Hannigan punched him. As he plowed through the cases, esoteric terms, acronyms, and evidence in the autopsy and crime scene reports became familiar and understandable. The interviews were harder. Statement after statement of horror, sorrow, and inconceivable loss resonated in his bones. Malibu memories and feelings pressed ever closer to his waking mind as the night wore on, wore him down.

The realization struck at 4 a.m. The procedure-bound, unimaginative, _ordinary_ cops ... really _hadn't_ missed anything. Unlike other cases he had helped on, there were no subtle clues hiding in plain sight, waiting for him to _see_ and _know_. He wouldn't be sure till he had read and pondered all the cases. But he already was certain Red John was brilliant and meticulous. Victims appeared to be randomly chosen. The crimes were researched and planned with excruciating precision. _No links to anyone. Except for Angie and Charlie. Their connection to me got them killed._ _No evidence, no witnesses to tie the murders to him. And no one ever survived an attack._

Jane hurried to the men's room and splashed cold water on his face. Simply stepping away from the intense chronicle of violence and grief loosened the tightness in his chest. He had done enough for now. _No one will care I dragged that leather couch out. The boxes are stacked out of the way. Should be okay till I get through them all._ He would finish them soon, if not this weekend.

He spent the balance of Saturday getting set up in Sacramento. He rented a place in an extended stay motel – a room with a bed, dresser, table, TV and two chairs. A bathroom. A counter for a microwave and small refrigerator. It wasn't _supposed_ to be comfortable lest it distract him, tempt him to turn away from the horror of his recent past. He had no right to anything else till he fulfilled his promise. Then he made the 12-hour round-trip to Malibu to get the rest of his clothes. This time it took only an hour to gather the courage to enter. He ignored the bloody mark as much as possible as he retrieved the clothes and left.

Sunday found him back at the CBI reading more files, dressed in the only clothes he had - suit and dress shirt. A lot had happened in the two weeks since the asylum. He took some satisfaction in getting access to the files and infiltrating the team assigned to Red John. He fell asleep on the old couch early Monday morning, reading Red John files.

**Lisbon and Elliott**

"Cho, I'm meeting with SacPD before coming in. Tell Minelli if he asks. Call if we get a case."

"Will do."

Lisbon hung up and greeted Detective Elliott as he arrived at the front desk of the main SacPD station house.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Lisbon?"

"Thanks for meeting on short notice–"

He grinned, "Not much of a favor, meeting with an attractive woman–"

She colored a bit, but forged on, "–Patrick Jane has just been hired as a CBI consultant and assigned to my team. I'm hoping you can help me figure out what I've got."

Surprisingly, he stepped forward and took her elbow. She kept herself from jerking away. "Maybe we could talk over coffee across the street?" She nodded.

"Here ya go, hon," the waitress said, setting coffees on their table. They waited till she left.

Lisbon tore open a sugar packet, added it and stirred. Looking up, "Jorge, we've known each other for years. It's a simple question – what's the big deal?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Simple question, not so simple man. –You say he's consulting for the CBI?"

"For my team, yes."

"And you've still got Red John?"

"Uh-huh." Her eyebrows rose and she nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"Whose idea was that?"

"Minelli's. Jane solved a tough case." She frowned, perplexed. "Oddest way to suss out the perp I've ever seen, but it worked."

Elliott sipped his coffee. "And he just _happens_ to be connected to Red John." He changed direction. "-Patrick Jane has kicked around advising SacPD, LAPD, and Fresno PD for years. –In fact, didn't he help SFPD while you were there?"

"Maybe once or twice. Long ago and other teams' cases."

"Jane claimed to be a psychic, but I think that was just entertainment–"

"–Fake, you mean?"

"Whatever. Like a lotta them, at first he volunteered for free publicity, for credibility for his act."

"And later?"

"He enjoys the challenge, solving the mysteries. The man is brilliant but strange. Half the time no one can figure out how he knows something. But the leads almost always pan out."

"If he only advised on a few SacPD cases, how do you know so much?"

"The murder of his family stuck out like a sore thumb. The only one where there was a motive, a connection. Some at SacPD thought he did it and made it look like Red John."

"God, really? I mean – their bodies–"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Grim. So we checked everything we could. When his family was killed, he was doing a live performance 90 minutes away. No way he could have killed them."

She murmured, "That doesn't rule out a hired hit."

He closed his eyes as an image surfaced. "I was at the crime scene a couple of hours after his 9-1-1 call. Jane discovered the bodies but it was hours before he called. When I got there he was covered in their blood, so dazed he was almost catatonic. The crime scene was messed up - really p.o.'d the forensics guys. Jane had cradled his dead wife and kid all those hours."

Lisbon swallowed, pictures of the broken man she met a week ago overlapping those of the man who solved the Dellinger case. She tried to keep from visualizing Elliott's description.

"That convinced me he wasn't involved. We checked it out, but I was already convinced." He stirred his coffee then continued. "Got a statement, at least as much as he could give at that point. Then didn't hear from him till after the funeral." He took a deep breath. "After that, he drove up to Sacramento every week for months, wanting to find out how we were doing. Read every news article he could find, including those about other Red John murders. After the case went cold he seemed to lose heart, then dropped out of sight. I put a BOLO out, but no sign of him–"

"-Till a week ago."

He nodded. "Till a week ago. Another thing. Just before he disappeared I stopped at his house to ask about a piece of evidence. He was living there, but the place was empty."

"Empty?"

"No furniture, nothing."

"A-n-d you think?"

"He's hunting Red John to kill him."

She muttered, "I was afraid of that."

"A lot of families react like that after a murder. This guy may actually be capable of it. He's determined, smart as hell, and tricky. You won't be able to control him. He doesn't care about the law or even himself. He'll use you, your team and the CBI to get what he wants. Trouble with a capital 't.'"

"Maybe I just won't involve him in any Red John cases."

Elliott snorted, "How do you stop him?"

Dryly, "If all else fails, jail cells work pretty well."

"Not hearing me, Lisbon."

She sat straighter having gotten what she came for. "One more thing. Will Jane pull his weight in investigations, closing cases?"

He shook his head a little in disbelief. "Oh, he'll close cases. But at what cost? And whaddya do when he's out of control on a Red John case?"

Getting up, "Guess I'll find out. –Jorge, thanks again. Call if you think of anything else, okay?"

"Sure thing. Good luck." They shook and left.

**Cho**

Cho hung up the phone after Lisbon's call and wondered if he should have told her Jane was sleeping in the bullpen. He decided she'd see for herself. Shortly after, Minelli's assistant Chris asked for a file Lisbon had. When Cho found the file he also noticed a sealed interoffice envelope from HR. He glanced over and confirmed Jane was still asleep. Then he took the envelope and went to an empty observation room.

Rigsby followed on his heels, interest piqued by Cho's odd behavior. "Why are you in here?" Noticing the file Cho took out of the envelope, "We got a case?"

"No."

"C'mon, Cho. Give."

Cho scowled, realizing Risgby wasn't going anywhere without an explanation. "It's Jane's HR file."

"You're not s'posed to have that." Alarmed as the realization struck, "You _lifted_ if from Lisbon's desk?"

"Lisbon's meeting with SacPD. We need to know."

"Geez." Rigsby said, but stayed and read over Cho's shoulder.

Cho skimmed the file and huffed. _Not much here. Name, Malibu address, birth date and Social Security number._ He snorted at the next. "'TV performer. Entrepreneur. Consultant for PD's.' No dates, no contacts, no references, no salary history. No nothing."

Rigsby's voice startled him, too loud next to his ear, "Man, this is closer to a blank sheet of paper than a personnel file. What gives?"

"Yeah." They continued reading. _Education fields are blank even though the guy must have a degree or two. Looks like he comes from money, so there probably should even be a prep school listed. No military service – not a surprise._ Cho pushed his chair back. "Hell, I've gotten more from a victim's wallet than I am from this."

"No emergency contact, doctor, or next of kin," Rigsby seconded.

Something got Cho's attention, "But he lists the date of his last tetanus shot."

"So?"

"When was your last shot?"

"I'd have to look it up."

"Exactly."

Rigsby shrugged and moved on, "No criminal history." They leafed through the criminal background check. There were a few speeding tickets and a juvie file that had been sealed almost 20 years ago.

"Clean," Cho concluded. "Unless he's just smart enough to get away with it."

"Why so suspicious? I know the psychic thing is a little sketchy, but–"

Cho looked over his shoulder at his partner. "_He_ said there's no such thing as psychics. If he didn't believe in that crap himself, then he knowingly bilked people out of their money. A _lot_ sketchy."

"Not enough to get arrested," Rigsby countered weakly.

Cho continued leafing through the pages. "No tax problems." He snorted, "Great credit rating, but no credit cards, no mortgage, not even a car payment."

"Must have paid cash." Rigsby voiced his confusion. "I don't get it. It's like he didn't want to put down any information. He barely _has_ a paper trail."

"Yeah."

They turned to the drug screening report. Cho's lips twitched when he noticed Minelli had HR order the expanded version. _Minelli's taking him with a grain of salt. Good._ "Not a druggie or boozer."

Rigsby scanned down the list. "Prescription sleeping pills."

Cho noted the last items. _Traces of several prescription drugs, the kind used for mental patients. Huh. _

Rigsby straightened. "What do you make of it?"

"Secretive, sketchy – at least in the past. We'll see if he's useful."

"Trust him?"

"Why would I?"

Cho abruptly shoved the folder back into the envelope and resealed it. "Need to put this back." He grabbed Rigsby's arm before he could leave. "This didn't happen."

Rigsby swallowed. "Right."

**Lisbon**

Lisbon expertly threaded her way through the morning traffic, but her mind was elsewhere. _Elliott gave me a lot to think about. At least he confirmed Jane's abilities, his track record with PD's. The Dellinger breakthrough wasn't a fluke. Good. ... _She swallowed a lump in her throat. _Jorge's description of the murder scene sounded ... heart-rending. Not 'one sad survivor,' 'one _devastated_ survivor.' And still no clue what happened when he dropped out of sight._

She picked up her cell, saw it was Minelli, and answered. "Lisbon."

"Stop by my office when you get in. It's short."

"Will be there in 15 minutes."

"Good."

Her thoughts returned to her new consultant. _Elliott makes him sound like a handful._ She scrunched up her nose as she thought. _Well, sure, I can see the potential. After a shaky start, he controlled a room of hostile subjects and broke the perp for God's sake! And he did it on the fly. One helluva performance. ... How the _hell_ did he go from broken survivor to commanding presence in a week?_ She waited for a break in traffic to turn left. _Once he got going he was ... mesmerizing. His voice. Eyes. Charisma. Brilliant as well as handsome–_ She pulled herself up short. _Wait! Where the hell did that come from? He's a grieving widower who _now works for me_, for heaven's sake. With luck, he'll help solve cases without causing too much trouble over Red John. Have to think about that._ She was waved through the gate then smiled as she spied a vacant space in the always-crowded lot outside the CBI entrance. _If we get our numbers up a little the team can park out here, _she thought contemplating that highly visible top-team-of-the-month perq.

Minelli waved her in.

"Close the door, Lisbon."

She did then sat across from Minelli.

"Yes, Sir?"

"You've had a weekend to think. Still want Jane on your team?"

Cautiously, "Yes."

He exhaled slowly. "I got a call from Alexa Shultz Friday night."

"FBI assistant director, right?"

"Right. For some reason the Feebs are v-e-r-y interested in Red John. And Patrick Jane."

"Why?"

"Remains to be seen. –She asked and I agreed to keep her abreast of our progress with the case."

"They planning to take it over, or – or–"

"Don't think so. Have no idea what their game is, which is why I agreed. Keep that line of communication open so maybe I can find out."

"Um, does that affect how my team works the case?"

"No. We're not going to jump every time the Feebs call. But you deserve to know something Shultz said about Jane." He had her rapt attention. "Shultz claims Jane was in a mental institution when he was off the radar."

She breathed out in surprise. "Any way we can confirm that? And does it change anything?"

Minelli tossed a folder to her. "Copy of Jane's personnel file from HR. More fields blank than answered. Nothing about his medical background, though after his family's murder a breakdown wouldn't be surprising."

She skimmed the pages as he spoke. "From what _is_ here, nothing rules out consulting for the CBI. No criminal background, no drug or alcohol abuse." She looked up, questioning.

"There are traces of psychiatric prescription drugs. Maybe Shultz is correct. I wanted to give you a heads up – and a chance to change your mind."

She sat back and thought for a moment, confident Minelli wouldn't rush her. "I talked with Elliott at SacPD this morning. Jane's worked with PD's for years and has a history of brilliant breakthroughs. And like it or not, he _is_ connected to Red John. He wants to be here, could be at risk from Red John if he's out there on his own."

Impatiently, "And he's hell bent on killing the bastard."

"Elliott thought so, too."

"And you, Lisbon?"

"Maybe. Probably."

"Decision time. What do you want to do?"

"Keep him. He can help close cases and he _is_ linked to Red John. There must be some reason Red John singled him out – aside from the stupid on-air thing. He's probably safer with the CBI."

"Okay." Minelli tapped out a cigarette, sixth of the day judging from the butts in the ashtray. "Keep an eye on him. Let's talk if things seem to be going off the rails."

"Yes, Sir."

Minelli took his copy of Jane's file back. Lisbon left to finally get to her office and start the workweek.

**Lisbon's Team**

Lisbon dropped her things off in her office, went to check on the bullpen and pulled up short. An old, brown leather couch was now under the window, replacing the desk Jane had been using. Red John storage boxes were stacked around it. What grabbed her attention was the man asleep on that couch. She frankly stared, the first time she could simply observe without interacting, without him being her problem to solve.

Patrick Jane lay there, curls sifting gold from the sun, handsome face untroubled in sleep, lips full and sensuous, long eyelashes immodest, luxurious. His eyes were closed, but their stormy blue‑green was unforgettable. His crisp suit was perfectly tailored to the lean, beautifully formed man in front of her. Sure, she'd seen sleeping men, occasionally handsome ones – some even naked in her bed. _But none looked like they dropped by from a GQ photo shoot. Or a Calvin Klein ad – nah, too many clothes. _A wave of attraction crashed over her leaving a wash of warmth in its wake, heat curling in her lower torso. _Holy Mother of God, it's not enough he's brilliant, charismatic and strong enough to survive the murders. He's drop dead gorgeous too._ She blinked._ Damn, am I in trouble! -Get a grip, Teresa._

She dimly heard Cho say something. It finally registered.

"Hey, Boss."

She looked over her shoulder, "Shh." She definitely didn't want Jane waking up at this moment.

"We caught one. Fresno," said Cho, voice lowered. He eyed his boss suspiciously. _Jane is _sleeping_ on the job. How the hell does _that _get a pass?!_

Lisbon replied, "Get Rigsby. Let's leave before traffic."

"Okay."

Lisbon left Jane at the CBI. Flustered, the last thing she wanted was for Jane to accompany them, to 'read' her reactions. She needed time and distance to lock down this unprecedented response so she could return to being the impartial, professional unit leader. _Maybe he can check out any suspects after we work the crime scene. Yeah. When we get to that point. _They were on the road in a CBI van before ten minutes had elapsed.

It was late the next day before they returned. Fresno was too far to drive each day. Tired and out of sorts, they had finished most of the leg work. Now it was time to pore over the evidence and hash out who was most likely the culprit.

The three passed through security and took the elevator to 5. Lisbon noted a big dent in the decorative metalwork that hadn't been there when they left, then dismissed it. When they reached their floor Lisbon noticed a clump of agents from other units standing around talking, shooting glances their way every now and then. _Just me, or are they looking at us?_

In a low voice, Lisbon said, "Rigsby, go talk to those agents. If something's going on that affects the SCU, I want to know about it." Rigsby rubbed shoulders easily with most of the agents on their floor, unlike Cho who intimidated them. For all the professional respect Lisbon garnered, she would never be "one of the guys" with whom agents would share gossip. She had her sources, but Rigsby was the fastest way to find out.

"Right away, Boss." Rigsby walked to his desk and shed his notepad, holstered gun, and videotapes from the victim's family. He then got coffee and strolled over to the group of agents.

Lisbon and Cho followed him into the break room to prepare their own coffees. Jane was nowhere to be found. She caught what could have grown into a smile if it were anyone but Cho.

"What?"

He motioned with his head. "New kettle for tea. And–" as he took down a mug from the cabinet, "tea cups." There were several never-before-seen cups and saucers in the cabinet above the counter. She also spied a boxed assortment of tea bags.

She frowned, "Jane?"

"Yeah."

"Why'd he bother? Could'a just used the mugs already here."

"Coffee oils ruin tea. Guess he's particular."

"_Why_ is that not a surprise," she muttered.

Rigsby strolled back. He glanced around to confirm no other agents were within earshot. "Found out what the buzz is," he said with a wide grin.

"Out with it, Rigs."

"Hannigan broke his hand."

"What?"

"He took a swing in the elevator. Jane ducked. Hannigan hit the metal frame and broke his hand."

"Damn. They say anything else?"

"Yeah. Zartanian was there. Jane just congratulated Hannigan on his new position. Hannigan took it the wrong way."

"Jane didn't bait him?"

Rigsby scratched his head. "Didn't say either way. At worst it was ambiguous." Lisbon's glare wiped the grin off his face.

"Go do something useful," Lisbon growled and strode off to her office.

Rigsby and Cho exchanged glances. They didn't mind at all if Jane had gotten Hannigan's goat, so long as he could get away with it.

"Ah, back again, I see," Jane smiled, suddenly appearing behind them.

"Jane." Cho nodded.

Rigsby started, "Hey, I heard–"

"Jane, in my office. Now!" Lisbon called sharply.

Jane shrugged. "Later."

He strolled into Lisbon's office. Of course, voices carried.

"Jane, what happened with Hannigan?"

"I congratulated him on taking a new position," Jane answered mildly.

"And he just happened to take a swing at you?"

"Yeah. No idea why."

She paused a moment, then asked calmly, "Tell me exactly what you said."

"Congratulations on taking a new position, Hannigan. I'm sure you'll do well there." His face was pleasant and neutral.

She huffed. "And you didn't think he'd react badly?"

Innocently, "Why? I just congratulated him."

Suspiciously, "Didn't know his new unit is a big step down from the SCU?"

He spread his hands, "It is? Had no idea."

"Just go back to the bullpen, Jane." She thought to add, "–And stay away from Hannigan."

He smiled, a twinkle of amusement glittering in his eyes, "Your wish is my command, Senior Agent Lisbon."

"Don't push it. Oh. Talk to Cho and Rigsby and get up to speed on the case."

He smiled a real smile then left.


	11. Chapter 11 - Settling In

**Chapter 11: Settling In**

**Lisbon's Team, Fresno**

The Fresno case set the stage. Mr. Chandler Dahlgran was a Fresno councilman. The PD referred the murder of Mrs. Dahlgren to the CBI because of the conflict of interest, though Lisbon privately thought they just wanted to sidestep the politics. Lisbon left Jane at the CBI while the three agents spent two days doing the leg work in Fresno. After a day in the office doing background research, Lisbon, Cho and Rigsby fingered the husband and his wife's lover as suspects in the murder of Brittany Dahlgren. She was also trying to figure out how best to use the new, decidedly atypical law-enforcement resource named Patrick Jane. Lisbon decided having a human lie detector during the interrogations would be helpful. Back in Fresno, Lisbon and Jane observed while Rigsby and Cho handled the interrogations.

"Opinion?" she asked as Rigsby finished with the husband.

"Not him. Though not devastated, he is sad about her death," Jane opined, "There's no guilt."

"My impression too."

They next watched Cho question Brittany's lover. The man had no alibi and Lisbon thought he was more likely to have done it. His neighbors had reported a loud argument a few days before the victim was killed with a prescription sleep aid overdose. The detail that identified it as murder was that despite the sleeping pills scattered on her night stand, she was actually killed by an unusual liquid sleep aid preparation. The active ingredient was identical to dozens of sleeping pills, but the inactive ingredients were distinctive and identifiable by the medical examiner. Neither Dahlgren had a prescription for the liquid version. The ME, PD and CBI concluded the murderer spiked a drink with a sleep aid overdose, then scattered the readily available pills near her to make it look like suicide. Murder.

The husband and lover each stated Brittany wasn't suicidal or even unhappy. She had just organized a two week vacation for her husband and herself. Cho pressed, but the man steadfastly maintained not only his innocence, but also his love for Brittany.

Jane ran a hand through his hair. Lisbon was beginning to learn Jane's habits and realized that mannerism meant something was bothering him.

"Well?"

"Nope. His 'tells' are even clearer than the husband. He loved her and_ is_ despondent over her death."

She sighed. "Back to square one."

The husband and lover each were advised to stay in town and were released. The three agents and consultant gathered in the room assigned to them by the FresnoPD. They needed to knock around the evidence again.

"Rigs?"

"Not a warm, loving marriage, but nah, don't think the husband wanted her dead. –I got the feeling he knew about the lover and didn't much care."

"Cho?"

"I don't think my guy did it, either." No one disagreed.

Jane chimed in. "Exactly. Trophy wife, befitting the husband's exalted position as councilman. Didn't really care what she did and didn't murder her. The lover did care and didn't murder her either. Um, isn't a sleeping prescription overdose strange for a murder of passion? Most men would be more – physical."

"Yes and no," Lisbon answered. "Murders between couples tend to be brutal, whether a man kills his female partner or a woman kills her male partner. Overall, male murderers typically do choose a violent method."

"So poisoning doesn't fit very well. On the other hand, I would guess women are more likely to murder using poison than men."

"S-o-o, is there a point?" She sighed, "We're back to the starting–"

Jane interrupted. "The home videos Dahlgren gave us. Can we look at the – uh, the Christmas one again?"

"Got an idea?"

"Maybe."

Jane took the remote and fast forwarded to the gift exchange between the Dahlgrens and several close friends. There were, blessedly, no children as Mr. Dahlgren's children from a previous marriage were grown and his much younger second wife had had no interest in starting a family. He stopped then backed it up. "There," he pointed. "Watch the woman, the one named 'Jenny.'" They sat and watched a few minutes of the tape. Jane paused the tape. "Jenny's gifts to her best friend are strange, overly intimate between women."

"Perfume and a negligee." Rigsby tempered the thought, "But then Jenny joked about how the _husband_ really should be thanking her."

"Still off," Cho opined.

"Care to share with the class, Jane?" Lisbon asked a bit sharply.

"You need a search warrant for Jenny."

"For?"

"She was Brittany Dahlgren's lover as well. I think–" he tapped his lips with a forefinger, "Brittany threatened to break it off and Jenny couldn't stand being spurned. Murder by poisoning would make more sense between intimate women – a lesbian couple, or at least bi-sexual."

The three agents gaped at him. Lisbon finally sputtered, "Based on what? Two slightly-strange gifts from months earlier?"

Jane leaned back and smirked. "Based on the gifts, body language, and the fact that your two suspects just bombed out."

Lisbon gritted her teeth. "Okay, we'll check it out." _No point to him consulting if we don't take him seriously._ But she wondered how the polite, deferential victims' relative had so quickly morphed into this cocky, obnoxious version. _Be even worse if he's right. Jackass. _

Searching Carlson's apartment had indeed proven she was Brittany's lover. Plus, her pharmacy's records showed a recently filled prescription for the liquid sleeping preparation. That was enough for Cho to work with. Later that day Cho turned to the one-way glass, palm up to ask if there was anything more Lisbon needed beyond the taped confession of Jenny Carlson. Lisbon stuck her head into the interrogation room. "Wrap it up, Cho," she said and left for the PD room that was their temporary base of operations.

Lisbon seated herself at a table only to look up and find Jane had followed her. "Do you want something, Jane?"

"Mmm, a 'you were right' would be nice."

She bit back a surly response. _Dammit, he was right._ In an exaggerated, sugary voice, "You were right. –Happy?"

Unexpectedly Jane sat down across from her. "No. It would be more efficient if I went to the crime scenes, too. After all, why waste time questioning suspects who didn't do it?"

"Y'know, you're being an annoying jerk!"

"A rhetorical question, I assume?"

Petulantly, "Statement, not question."

"But what about my going to crime scenes? I pick up a lot of information from context. –It was just luck Jenny Carlson was in that video."

Lisbon closed her eyes and counted to ten. "Despite being deliberately insulting, you have a point. Starting next case, you'll come with, too."

He smiled blindingly, "Thank you, Lisbon. –By the way, your eyes really sparkle when you're mad." He ducked into a nearby men's room before she could react. Lisbon rose abruptly and stalked off to confer with the FresnoPD liaison.

Jane returned a few minutes later. Leaning against the wall, Cho said, "Why do that, Jane?"

Jane smiled blandly, "Do what? Make a valid point? Improve our efficiency? Compliment our fearless leader?"

"Never mind."

**Lisbon's Team, CBI**

"Look for yourself, Cho. How does he rate?"

Cho laid his book down, rose and walked over to where Rigsby was looking out the window.

Rigsby unnecessarily pointed to the unmistakable blue Citroen, "See? He's got the first space in the lot. How?"

Cho glanced over his shoulder as Jane ambled in with his first cup of tea for the day. "Ask him yourself." Cho sat down and picked up his book. By all appearances, he immediately became absorbed in reading again. Appearances would be wrong.

Jane raised his eyebrows. "Question, Rigsby?"

"How did you get a space in the entrance lot? Guys kill for those."

"Ah! No violence required. The lot maintenance crew was coating and re-striping the asphalt last week."

"So?"

"I merely pointed out that making the area off-limits for parking wasted valuable real estate. A short car – like mine – would readily fit."

Rigsby stepped back to the window to scan the vehicles in the lot. This being the CBI, nearly all were brawny, _large_ vehicles or CBI-owned vans. Jane's oddball Citroen stuck out – and perfectly fit the small, newly created space.

Cho summarized, "You talked security into assigning you that space?"

Jane smiled, "Tommy offered, I accepted."

"Why?"

Jane shrugged, "He wanted a little entertainment for an organization he's close to. Mutually beneficial."

Rigsby handed Cho a $5 bill. A few days later Tommy told Rigsby about a fund-raising event for a children's hospital. Jane was doing magic tricks. Rigsby heard grumbling by agents from other units over the next few weeks. The agents who openly questioned Jane's perq somehow each experienced bad luck: Rumors complicated their personal lives, misunderstandings occurred with their bosses, and there were odd clumsy accidents. One agent even developed a sudden interest in bird watching. The grumbling ceased.

**Lisbon's Team, The CBI**

They were between cases. Jane was sitting on his couch – everyone had come to think of it as _his_ couch – working with the Red John files. Jane systematically took a page, held it in front of him for a few seconds, then turned it over and held it up for an equal period, all the while staring intently at it. Cho's curiosity got the better of him after Jane had been at it for an hour.

"Jane," Cho called quietly, "what are you doing?"

Jane finished the sheet he was holding before answering. "Reading the Red John files, of course."

"Wrong."

Jane looked at him quizzically, one eyebrow raised.

"You finished reading them weeks ago." When Jane didn't respond Cho continued, "If you had a camera, I'd say you were taking a photo of each page." When Jane still didn't respond, he finally asked, "Well?"

"Was there a question? You were ably handling all parts of the conversation yourself."

Cho swallowed, deliberately patient. "What are you doing?"

"I'm ... _studying_ the files."

Cho flashed back to Jane's personnel file. "You're memorizing them."

"I don't have a photographic memory, Cho."

"But damn close, right?" Jane didn't say anything. but the corners of his mouth pulled up a little in a smile. _Cho-man doesn't miss much._

Cho grunted and filed away that factoid in his growing mental file of Jane oddities. Curiosity satisfied, he went back to writing a report.

A few hours later, even Jane tired of focusing on grisly Red John files. He put the lid on the box, rose and got tea. Rigsby had returned from an errand by the time he walked back.

"Rigsby!" Jane exclaimed with a smile. "Just the man to enliven the day."

Rigsby's eyes narrowed skeptically. "What do you want, Jane?"

"Merely to entertain you. I have a card trick you might enjoy."

"For money?"

"Just a little something to make it interesting."

"My Jane entertainment fund is tapped out for the week. Hell, month."

Meeting unexpected resistance, Jane tried Cho. "Cho, how about–"

"No."

"But you haven't even heard–"

"No."

"How about this? If you figure out how the trick works, I'll get you both spaces in the CBI entrance lot starting next month. Hmm?" He smiled engagingly.

Rigsby looked at him in amazement. Even Cho looked up. The lot had just 50 - no, now 51 ‑‑ spaces for over 300 agents who wanted them (and one consultant who had a space permanently, apparently).

Cho, "For how long?"

Jane shrugged. "Indefinitely."

"That's if we win. If you win?"

"You buy me lunch for a week."

"Five days. Fast food take-out. Tacos, burgers, pizza," Cho insisted, limiting the potential financial hit.

"Not the most healthful, but I can live with that. Deal." Jane smiled wide and took a sealed deck of cards out of a vest pocket.

Cho frowned, _When did he start wearing vests?_ then realized Jane now always wore vests. _Must be just after he started._

Jane gave them the sealed deck to examine, then broke the seal and slid out the cards.

"Wait a minute. Let us see," Cho demanded. Jane smiled wider and handed them the loose deck of cards. They again examined it. It was a standard deck of cards with an all-over diamond pattern in red on the back. They shrugged, not finding anything amiss. Jane fanned the deck of cards.

"Take a card, Cho. Examine it closely and remember the card." Cho pulled a card and looked at it intently for a moment. Jane impatiently fiddled with the cards while he waited, then held out the deck so Cho could slide the card back in. Jane shuffled the deck several times, then let Cho shuffle it. Jane rifled through the cards, paused, and pulled out a card. He held it up without looking at the face.

"Your card?"

Cho's scowl was all the answer he needed. Jane returned the card to the deck and was about to slide the deck into the case.

"Stop. You haven't won yet. Let me see the deck."

Jane handed it back. After a minute, Cho showed no sign of being done. Jane left and made a fresh cup of tea.

Returning, "Well?"

Cho exhaled noisily through his nose. "Don't know." He handed the deck back and abruptly resumed reading his book. _I _know _it's a trick, but how? Jane didn't do anything, just played with the deck while I looked at my card. Damn._

Jane smiled gently. "When it's lunchtime, going to come with? Or just reimburse me?"

"I–"

"We got a case," Lisbon interrupted walking into the bullpen. "Davis. Girl missing from a college campus. Two cars, Cho you're with me."


	12. Chapter 12 - The New Normal

**A/N: I am posting Chapters 11 and 12 at the same time. Please read Chapter 11 before this one. Thanks.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12: The New Normal<strong>

**Lisbon's Team, Davis**

"We got a case," Lisbon interrupted walking into the bullpen. "Davis. Girl missing from a college campus. Davis PD thinks it's the latest of a series of abductions, possibly selling girls into the sex trade. Davis is close so we'll be back every night. Two cars, Cho you're with me."

The trip to Davis was mercifully short. Lisbon drove as usual. Unusually, Lisbon opened a conversation with her famously laconic right hand man.

"Jane's been aboard over a month. Impressions?"

Cho's expression indefinably turned more serious. Lisbon seldom solicited opinions about teammates and Cho gave his opinions even less frequently, at least to the boss.

Cho finally said, "He's smart. Useful."

She glanced at him. "But–?"

"Untested. Jury's out." His expression made it clear he preferred to say no more.

She tried another gambit. "We've closed every case with him and done it faster than usual. One or two of those would have been hard to solve without him."

"Yes."

The rest of the ride was silent.

The other SUV was lively by contrast. Rigsby drove while Jane offered a continuous stream of questions and comments. Quite unintentionally, Rigsby found himself drawn into a personal conversation.

"Why law enforcement, Rigs?"

"Hate criminals. Got a scholarship for a criminal justice major. Was hired by the San Diego PD."

"And you hate criminals because of your father, right?"

Rigsby jerked the steering wheel a bit then straightened out. "Uh, no comment."

Soothingly, "Hey! Black sheep in every family. Some good came of it - you became a cop." When Rigsby refused to say more, Jane switched topics. "So Lisbon and Cho worked together for the San Francisco PD." Rigsby's badly masked surprised confirmed his guess, so he went on, "Minelli came to the CBI, then recruited Lisbon, who recruited Cho." Rigsby swallowed uncomfortably. "Lisbon got into police work because she wanted to help people by righting wrongs. –For Cho, it was a natural after getting out of the military."

As Jane continued his low key speculations, it eventually dawned on Rigsby that Jane was confirming his guesses through Rigsby's reactions. Rigsby worried about what his notoriously private teammates would think when they discovered how much Jane had wormed out of him.

Rigsby finally said, "Uh, Jane, I need to concentrate on the directions. Pipe down for awhile, okay?" Jane smiled, leaned back and closed his eyes. He already found the trip quite productive.

Both SUV's arrived at the University of California at Davis campus where the team met with Davis PD detective Stan Ogilvie. He briefed them as they walked to Carrie Davenport's apartment.

"Carrie Davenport disappeared two days ago. Now, the college student population is, by definition, highly mobile, unsettled. Numerous students simply drop out. Most return home, some stick around working entry level jobs in the area. But this is what's disturbing. We've found that a couple of students – always female – disappear suddenly without taking their belongings or leaving word with anyone. Those are the ones we're concerned about."

Lisbon asked, "How many? And any common characteristics?"

"Since we suspected a problem in '02, one or two a semester from the Davis campus. Always female, white, 18-to-20. Um–"

"Go ahead."

He flinched a little at bringing up the topic to the tough female CBI agent. "Judging by their photos, all were pretty, too. That led us to ask around."

Cho ventured, "Other college campuses as well?"

"Yeah. Similar disappearances, no more than a few per semester, at five other California colleges."

Rigsby asked, "Any turn up later – dead or alive?"

"Nope."

Lisbon turned to her team. "We'll start with the apartment and her apartment mates."

Davenport's apartment was built specially for off-campus living. It had three bedrooms each with an attached bathroom, a living room, and a kitchen. Davenport's room was moderately messy. Jane strolled around, hands in his pockets, closely observing everything while Lisbon, Cho and Rigsby interviewed the other two women who lived there. The four gathered outside before splitting up.

"Anything?" Lisbon asked.

"The other girls mentioned a new boyfriend, but no one knows anything about him."

Cho added sourly, "Average height and weight, brown hair, brown eyes, average looking. Like he was chosen for being perfectly forgettable."

Unexpectedly, Jane agreed. "You may be right. If this is a business, that's certainly a quality they'd want."

Lisbon turned to him. "You get anything from her bedroom?" she asked, still smarting from his brusque demand a few cases back to travel to the crime scenes.

"Well, she _was_ leaving for a date – at least from her perspective." Noticing their puzzled expressions, "She had several dressy outfits laid out so clearly she cared about appearance. The make-up items scattered on her bathroom counter were more than she usually wore. Several new items that looked like they were just opened. I found this brochure–" he held it up by its edges, "for a state park cabin, with the number '215' written on it. It was on her night stand, a highly suggestive loca–"

Lisbon, sharply, "Dammit, Jane, you can't just take things. That's evidence in a crime!" She held out a plastic evidence bag and motioned him to drop it inside.

He shrugged a little, "Sorry. Anyhow, none of her apartment mates mentioned plans for a cabin outing. Should be checked out. Also–" He paused and frowned, "Uh, I think I smelled Turkish cigarette smoke in her bedroom." He added, "She didn't smoke and that's an unusual brand in America." Lisbon raised her eyebrows at that and tried to recall any smells. The most she remembered was a hint of cigarette smoke.

"I'll go to the station house. With luck the women she lived with remember her boyfriend well enough for a police sketch. I'll get Ogilvie's notes on disappearances from other campuses. You three interview Davenport's friends and professors. Call if you need to follow a lead." Everyone stood still for a minute, "Get going." She turned and left.

The three of them made short work of interviewing the friends and professors. Unfortunately, no one remembered anything remarkable about Davenport's recent activities. Only two friends had even _seen_ the new boyfriend.

After Rigsby complained for the fourth time and Jane was increasingly distracted, Cho agreed to stop for burgers (and paid for Jane's lunch as well as his own).

"Now what?" Rigsby asked.

"How about we check out the cabin?" asked Jane.

"I'll text Lisbon and get the address," Cho agreed.

"I know the address–"

"–_Of course_ you do," interjected Cho, suppressing a grin after their earlier conversation.

"-just tell her we're going there."

Shortly after, Cho pulled the SUV up to the rustic office. They had debated whether they could talk the manager into letting them check out the cabin without a search warrant. Before the SUV stopped rolling Jane was in motion.

"You two stay here. I'll get the cabin key so we can look around." He hopped out, briskly walked to the office door and went in.

"Hi," Jane said with a smile. The only person in the office was the manager, who was built like a brick outhouse – 6'3" and 250 lbs. of muscle. Tattooed snakes writhed up his arms, the ink cleverly following the prominent veins of a weight lifter. Several skull-and-crossbones tattoos decorated his neck.

"Yeah?" the manager looked up, not pleased at the interruption to his lunch.

"My girlfriend wants to stay here for a romantic weekend. Her lucky number is 215, and I wonder if I could check it out."

The manager frowned. "Wait a few minutes?"

"Oh. Hey, I don't want to rush your lunch. If you lend me the key I'll be happy to check it out on my own."

"Okay, I guess–"

Just then Cho and Rigsby entered. Jane pretended not to know them and hoped they'd take the hint, but no such luck.

"We're–"

"Cops!" the manager snarled. "Hell, you too," he said noticing how closely they stood to Jane. His lip curled in disgust. "I s'pose you wanna see 215?"

"CBI. Yes, we would appreciate your help," Cho said as he and Rigsby flashed their badges.

The manager threw down his sandwich and growled, "I'll take you up." He pulled an electronic keycard from its slot in a rack on the wall behind him. Cho walked outside, followed by Rigsby, Jane and the manager. The manager growled so only Jane heard, "You lying grifter dandy. Even worse than regular cops."

Sotto voce Jane said, "I tried not to disturb your lunch."

"Shut up."

The cabin was a couple of miles up a paved state road into the park. The manager rode an ATV used to travel around the property. The three from the CBI rode in their SUV. All got out when the manger pulled over.

He pointed. "That's cabin 215. You're standing on a state road. Everything over 10 feet from this road is private property."

Cho asked, "Will you let us look around the cabin?"

"Got a warrant?"

Cho's brows furrowed. "No."

"Get one. Then I'll show you."

Jane's foot unexpectedly slid off the edge of the pavement. He would have fallen except for grabbing the manager's arm. "Get the hell off me, grifter!" He shook Jane's arm off and straightened. "I'll be finishing my lunch." He left.

Rigsby scowled at the cabin. "Damn. A warrant will take two hours."

"At least," Cho seconded.

"Or, we could just take a look," Jane grinned, holding up the keycard. "Forget the paperwork unless we find something interesting."

"You–" started Rigsby.

"–picked his pocket," finished Cho.

Jane spread his hands. "Your choice. We have 20 minutes max before he misses it and is back."

Cho took a breath. "We'll take a look. Don't touch anything. No way we could explain our prints." They hurried to the cabin and looked around. It had been cleaned since the last rental, dashing their hopes for useful evidence. Using handkerchiefs, Cho and Rigsby checked drawers, cabinets and closets, looked under the bed. Jane checked the small refrigerator, which was empty.

Cho carefully closed the door and they gathered on the cabin's porch. "Nothing."

Jane tipped his head sideways. "Not. Same cigarette smell. Boyfriend was here with Davenport." He walked around the side of the cabin. "Ah-ha!" Rigsby and Cho followed and found him digging through the trash with a stick. "Hasn't been emptied yet. Can you get whatever magic baggie you need for evidence? I see a cigarette butt and an empty liquor bottle. Worth a look, no?"

They hurriedly bagged those items and poked around some more, but there was nothing else likely to carry fingerprints or be personal to whomever rented the cabin.

"You knew the manager wouldn't cooperate when we pulled up. How?" Rigsby asked as they walked to the SUV.

"The hog parked next to the office said he's a biker. Not likely to be civic‑minded. Appearance and lunchtime clinched it. Almost talked him out of the keycard till you came in screaming 'cops.'"

The three were next to their vehicle when the ATV roared up at top speed.

He jumped off. "You damn SOB cops. And you!" The manager pointed at Jane. "I should tear you in half for picking my poc–"

"Can it. Or I'll drag you downtown for threatening an officer," Cho said, stepping between the manager and Jane.

Jane reached around Cho and handed the manager the keycard. Jane grinned, "You dropped it on the road. No thanks necessary."

Tendons in the manager's neck stood out and his hands bunched into fists. Rigsby roughly grabbed Jane's arm and hustled him into the SUV. "Dammit, Jane. Got a death wish or what?"

It was just as well the slamming door drowned out, "Just having a little fun."

The manager spat an inch from Cho's polished shoes. He pivoted, mounted the ATV and roared away even faster, if that was possible. They drove back down and stopped at the convenience store-gas station near the cabin office. Jane got out to use the men's room around back while Cho filled the tank. Rigsby went inside to buy snacks and drinks for the trip back.

Cho heard the men's room door close and then a yelp. He rounded the corner in time to see Jane slumped against the brick wall, arm tightly gripped by the manager.

"Let him go!" Cho's gun was persuasive.

"Fu–"

"Shut up or you're facing assault charges." Gun steady on the manager, Cho took Jane's arm and asked, "You okay, Jane?"

Jane blinked several times, shook himself and stood straighter. "Uh, yeah. Just a little–"

Then Rigsby arrived, attracted by the voices. "Cho, Lisbon pulled up."

"You're going to forget about the cabin. We're going to forget about the assault." The manager said nothing.

Jane added, "Violates parole you–"

"Shut up, Jane," Cho and Rigsby said in unison. Cho holstered his gun.

Lisbon walked around the corner. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. Just a conversation with the cabin manager, here."

"Mr.–"

"Jenkins," the manager answered sullenly.

"Have you ever seen this man?" She asked, unfolding the police artist's sketch.

Cho looked pointedly at Jane and then to the manager. The manager gritted his teeth and answered, "Yeah. Rented cabin 215 two days ago."

"We need any information you have on him, including payment method.

"I need–"

"Here's the warrant." Lisbon handed him the document.

He actually read it, glared at the three men, then stiffly walked to his office. Fifteen minutes later they had the information. Cho and Rigsby went up to search the cabin and showed Lisbon the evidence they'd found in the trash.

"Cho, Rigsby, you drive back together. Get the evidence to Forensics. Tell 'em we need it analyzed ASAP. Jane, you're with me."

Cho and Rigsby left immediately. Jane moved to get into Lisbon's SUV.

"Just a minute." She walked over. "Let me see the back of your head."

"What?"

"Stand still!" She gently parted the hair on the back of his head. There was a red patch where his head crashed against the brick wall. She took several sterile wipes from the first aid kit and patted the area. Jane winced, but there was no gash, no apparent fracture.

"You mouthed off and the manager slammed you against the wall, right?"

Jane carefully got into the passenger seat. "Mmm," he non-answered.

She sighed in annoyance. "Fine. Don't tell me. Cho and Rigsby aren't bodyguards. One day you'll tangle with a thug and they won't get there fast enough." He sank back into the cushions. "Take some ibuprofen for that headache." They drove the rest of the way in silence.

Cho and Rigsby had rather more to talk over.

After they were on the road a few minutes, Rigsby started. "What do you think?"

"About?"

"Jane."

"Stupid."

"Smartest stupid I ever saw."

Cho sighed. "Okay. Smart and stupid."

"He was right about the cabin and the manager. Probably would have gotten us the keycard if we hadn't butted in–"

"Or if he told us his plan."

"Maybe right about the cigarette. That butt smelled like no US tobacco I ever encountered."

"Great," Cho said caustically.

"Hey. He's right and saves time."

"Fine. Useful. But he was stupid to p.o. that manager. He'd be in the hospital if we weren't around."

"But we _were_ around."

"Playing with fire. Leaning on us."

Rigsby munched through one of his snacks before picking it up again. "I don't get it. He's always smiling, doing tricks, annoying people to amuse himself."

"So?'

"Doesn't fit with the man who showed up at the CBI. How did he pull it together that fast?"

"Didn't."

"But–"

"It's a front. The real Jane is the one who showed up. He's faking the rest of it."

"Crap," Rigsby said softly.

"Yes. Unpredictable. Don't know if he even cares about saving his own skin."

"What do we do?"

Cho took another deep breath. "Cope. Like it or not, the powers that be want him here, likely for Red John."

Rigsby's forehead furrowed in a frown, "To hunt Red John?"

"Because he's linked to Red John. Bait."

"Geez. That's cold."

"Minelli didn't get where he is by warm and fuzzy."

They fell silent, thinking about life with an unpredictable - maybe unstable - team member in a dangerous job. Ten miles later Cho suddenly slammed his fist on the steering wheel. Rigsby jumped.

"Cripes, Cho!"

"I got it!"

"What?"

"How Jane did the card trick."

"Tell me."

"He was playing with the deck while I looked at my card."

"And?"

"Jane doesn't _have_ nervous tics. I bet the pattern on the back isn't perfectly symmetrical. He rotated the deck. When I put my card in, it was the only one with the wrong orientation."

"Makes sense."

"I'll nail him when he gets back."

Rigsby suddenly smiled. "Think he can deliver on those parking spaces?"

Brusquely, "We'll find out."

They arrived twenty minutes before Lisbon and Jane. That was enough time to deliver the evidence to Forensics. When Lisbon and Jane arrived, Lisbon went up to brief Minelli. Jane made tea and gingerly sat on his couch and leaned back with a sigh.

Not unkindly, Cho commented, "A hot shower helps with bruises."

"Thanks."

"You owe us parking spaces."

Jane perked up at that. "Oh?"

"You rotated the cards. Mine was the only one in the wrong direction."

Jane's smile widened. "You got it." If anything, he was more pleased than Cho that his teammate was sharp enough to figure it out.

"And the parking spaces?"

"You'll have them next month."

_Next month, next month. Why does _that_ feel like a trick? Damn him!_ "Next month because we'll be team-of-the-month, won't we?"

Jane smiled and sipped more tea.

A week later the Davenport case was referred to the FBI as part of a multi-state investigation. The cigarette butt proved to be a foreign brand sold widely in the Middle East. It also provided DNA, which was later helpful when they made arrests. The liquor bottle had a partial print. Because of the foreign cigarette, the FBI checked the immigration and student visa records as well as US criminal databases. It took three months, but the FBI uncovered and terminated a ring that sold young, attractive Western women into sexual slavery to certain wealthy Middle Eastern and Southeast Asian men. The CBI got a letter of thanks and Lisbon's team got a CBI commendation.

The Serious Crimes Unit was highest in both number and percentage of cases closed for the month. Lisbon, Cho and Rigsby joined Jane in parking in the CBI entrance lot as the team‑of‑the-month. They never lost that honor. Minelli finally bowed to reality and created a perq for the _second best_ team as well. It was a bitter-sweet honor for the teams that earned it.


	13. Chapter 13 - Gradually Unfolding

**Chapter 13: Gradually Unfolding**

**Lisbon's Team, Monday, Sacramento**

Mateo Gonzales had the misfortune to be shot to death and it happened outside the oldest, most prestigious investment bank in the city. The bank exterior was Greek revival, complete with marble columns. This was the fourth similar death in three California cities. Lisbon's team arrived in two vehicles after being called to the murder scene during lunch. The team parked and ducked under the police tape roping off the scene, showing their ID's to the local police.

"Senior Agent Lisbon, CBI. Who's in charge?"

"Detective Washington, Sacramento PD." He extended his hand which Lisbon shook.

"These are agents Cho and Rigsby, and consultant Patrick Jane."

He nodded, then launched into the briefing. "Shooting happened about 40 minutes ago at 11:35 am. The victim is Mateo Gonzales, Hispanic male, 22. Immigration status unknown. He was walking by the bank entrance when a black SUV pulled up. Three shots were fired out the window, two of which struck the victim and killed him. No one else was injured."

"Witnesses, vehicle ID, shooter description?"

He swept his arm around to the crowd gathered outside the tape. "Lots of witnesses. Uniforms have taken some statements. No question about what happened. Unfortunately, the plates were dirty and we only have 2 digits. The windows were tinted. So far, no one got a good look at the driver. The gunman wore a ski mask. Male and probably white or Hispanic. Don't know if there was anyone else in the SUV." He grimaced at the paucity of information.

Lisbon turned to Rigsby, "Rigs, see what the uniforms got and interview any remaining bystanders." She turned back to Washington, hope for easy leads sinking fast. "Any idea of motive?"

Washington brightened, "The victim's sister, Consuelo Gonzales, worked at the bank as a custodian. She was kneeling by his side trying to staunch the bleeding when we got here. Her brother was almost certainly dead when the two bullets struck. We called the CBI because this is the same pattern as three other shootings in two more cities over the past two weeks. "

"Medical examiner?"

"Our ME is on his way. Just call if you prefer CBI resources."

"Thank you." She nodded to Cho, who stepped aside to call the CBI. "And you'll get the files from those other cases delivered today?" Washington nodded, accepting Lisbon's card. "Where is Miss Gonzales?"

Washington and Lisbon walked over to a sobbing young woman. "Miss Gonzales, this is Agent Lisbon with the California Bureau of Investigation. Her team is investigating your brother's murder. She needs to speak with you."

The young woman's eyes never left the body of her brother lying in a pool of blood. Her hands, clothes and shoes were smeared with his blood. Lisbon extended her hand, which the woman took after self-consciously wiping her hand on her uniform skirt.

"Miss Gonzales, I am sorry for your loss. Do you think you could talk to me, help find whoever did this?" Gonzales nodded and said something so softly it was lost in traffic noise and the muttering of the crowd. Lisbon caught Cho's eye again. "Cho, see if the bank will let us interview her inside." Cho left, bounding up the steps and going inside. Lisbon gently led Gonzales away from the body, trailed by Jane. She fished a pack of tissues from her pocket and gave them to the woman to blot her tears and blow her nose. Cho stepped outside and nodded to Lisbon, motioning her in. Cho said, "Bank president okayed it," as he passed Lisbon on his way to help Rigsby finish the interviews. Lisbon got to the doors, only to be met by a man in a three piece suit, crisp white dress shirt, sterling cufflinks and fine, Italian leather shoes.

Looking the blood-stained young woman up and down, he blocked the door. "I'm Vice President Bradford. I would appreciate it if you could go to the side entrance around the corner, Agent. I'm sure you understand."

Lisbon looked at him sharply. "We have permission to interview this young woman inside. Please step aside." She moved forward, arm around Gonzales. The executive could either step back or be jostled. He left plenty of space between the blood-covered woman and himself. Jane tarried near the VP after the women passed.

The executive said stiffly, "The blood is upsetting. We only want to shield our clients." Irritated, he smoothed his gray hair back though not a hair was out of place.

Both stepped inside. Jane noted the antique furniture, silk rugs, fine wood paneling and original classical paintings. "I'm sure you have standards to uphold," he said neutrally. At that moment, Rigsby entered and looked around for Lisbon. Jane motioned toward the conference room. Rigsby walked off, unconsciously brushing crumbs from his suit from the sandwich he had scarfed down in lieu of lunch. The executive's frown deepened and Jane said quietly, "Some are too uncouth or ignorant to respect the finer things, aren't they?" When the executive looked puzzled, Jane added, "That antique, hand-knotted, thousand-count bokhara rug, the one under the Botticelli sketch." Rigsby's crumbs landed on that particular rug.

"You could say that," he finally responded.

"By the way, I'm Patrick Jane, a consultant with the CBI. May we talk in your office, sir?"

"Certainly," he replied, distracted as Lisbon led the slightly calmer woman out of a washroom. Her face, hands, and legs were now free from the blood that was shockingly vivid on the pale gray uniform. Lisbon passed him without a glance, taking the woman to the conference room to be questioned.

Cho entered the bank as Bradford led Jane to his office. _What? Jane knows he doesn't do official interviews solo._ Cho followed Bradford and Jane into the office and took out his notepad. He'd play along, at least till he figured out what Jane had in mind.

"Mr. Bradford, you seem familiar with Miss Gonzales?" Jane opened.

"Yes. She is with the custodial service."

"Not a bank employee?" He nodded. "What do you know beyond that?"

"Nothing much. She does her job, never says much. She respects our need for decorum, which I appreciate."

"How long has she been working here?"

"Five months, I think."

Lisbon tapped on the glass wall and motioned Cho to come. As Cho left, Jane accidentally knocked the brass nameplate and wooden holder off the desk.

"I apologize for my clumsiness, Mr. Bradford," and made a show of getting up. Since the desk items were closer to him, Bradford reached down to pick them up. Jane surreptitiously switched on the intercom. "You mentioned decorum. What do you mean?"

"We require that female custodial workers dress in a skirted uniform. We have the company send only quiet, demure women." He glanced through his glass wall to the lobby. Lisbon and Cho were escorting Gonzales outside while Rigsby interviewed the bank tellers. Secure in the privacy of his office, he looked at the consultant clad in his conservative, expensive suit, "How _do_ you get along with someone that rude? And how did she end up in that position?"

"Oh, you know," Jane said vaguely, waving the question aside.

Bradford sighed. "There's no breeding or etiquette any longer among female employees - including public servants." He looked meaningfully at Jane. "Very unfeminine _females–_" his tone made it a slur, "are allowed to play at being men, take positions which should be filled by men." Then, recalling Lisbon's attractiveness, he added, "Though for all I know, your agent got her position through her horizontal talents."

Jane murmured soothingly, agreeably, "Of course, the truly base think class resides in money and possessions, instead of compassion and generosity. How dare a mere public servant seek justice for every victim, regardless of net worth!" Jane abruptly got up, smiled, and shook his hand. Jane said, "Thank you for your insights" and left before the distracted VP fully absorbed his words. Rigsby suppressed the urge to laugh aloud as bank president Laura Emmett and Jane simultaneously entered the lobby. The bank president and female tellers looked furious, the male tellers, puzzled and embarrassed.

Cho and Rigsby drove in one CBI SUV while Lisbon and Jane took the other back to the CBI.

"Cho, you should have heard it. Jane had it on public address. By the time Jane wound him up, everyone in the bank was listening."

"Why do I care?"

"'Cause it was funny. -The guy's an ass. He insulted every woman in the place."

"Why'd Jane bother?"

Rigsby paused. "Bradford dissed the Boss personally. Implied she slept her way up. That's why."

"Or maybe he was amusing himself."

"Lighten up, Cho-man." Cho winced.

Just hours later, the complaint funneled down from the AG's office to Minelli and finally to Lisbon.

**Lisbon's Team, Wednesday, Sacramento**

"So why don't you have a social life?" Jane asked out of the blue, smiling. They were alone in one CBI SUV while Cho and Rigsby trailed in another. The Gonzales case turned out to be more complex than first thought. They were en route to question Gonzales's fiancé.

Lisbon frowned but kept eyes on the road. "Who says I don't? And how is that any of your business?"

"You leave the office after 8 every night, always in work clothes."

"I must've missed how that's your business."

"Ah, my dear leader, I thought team members are _supposed_ to care about their colleagues."

Frown deepening, "That's what you call prying into my private life after I ask you to stop?"

"Sure," his lips pulled back in a heart-stopping smile. "Everything is my business. Why you hired me."

Grumpy. "_Minelli_ hired you." After a moment, "Maybe I just go out on weekends. Y'know, those two _personal_ days when I'm not buried in paperwork generated by complaints against a certain consultant."

Smoothly, "All part of nailing the perps."

She snorted. "What the hell did insulting that bank VP have to do with nailing the perp? And would it kill you to apologize once in a while?"

A serious undertone threading his reply, "I never apologize unless I mean it. I'm not sorry I let that callous, sexist snob hang himself with his own words."

She flicked a hand, dismissing his last statement, "Oh, Knight of the Round Table Patrick Jane defends womankind. Uh, hate to break it to you, but that suit of shining armor doesn't fit too well. More like just getting your amusement at his expense. –And mine!"

"Laura Emmett sent a thank you letter to Minelli–"

"After I had to answer Bradford's complaint."

He shrugged, "Bank president trumps bank VP. I win."

Lisbon shook her head and sighed. _The man simply cannot resist puncturing pompous, puffed-up jerks who, unfortunately, are often_ politically powerful_ pompous jerks. Thank God the case is nearly over and we don't have to go back. And he's let up on my personal life._

**Minelli, Jane, and Trouble**

Lisbon walked into Minelli's office and sat down. _Something's different. _She set it aside as they started discussing the Gonzales case.

"I've gotten calls from LAPD and FresnoPD about the Gonzales case. They have three unsolved murders and want an update."

"Good news and bad. Gonzales is _not _connected to those other cases. Jane noticed several common elements in the other cases that are missing in Gonzales. The other cases are related to human trafficking of poor illegals from Central America to work in near slave-labor conditions in the US. Boss, those three murders should go to the immigration crimes unit."

"Call Alvarez and set up a meeting. If they agree it's immigration-related, I'll transfer them to his unit."

"Thank you."

"Now what _do_ you have on Gonzales?"

A few minutes into her briefing Lisbon realized she was breathing normally. 'Normally' was decidedly abnormal in Minelli's office where she usually tried to slow her respiration. 'No smoking' rules were flagrantly flouted by Minelli, his 35-year, two-pack-a-day habit trumping that particular law. Subordinates suffered in silence. Superiors ignored it out of appreciation for his fine job leading the CBI.

"Lisbon?"

"Sorry, Boss." She mentally shook herself and focused on the conversation. "Gonzales is missing those elements common in the other three. We took a fresh look. It seems Consuelo Gonzales, Mateo's sister, is engaged to someone outside the Hispanic community. It was a major cause of arguments between Mateo and Consuelo. Our next step is to find out who might have acted on that."

"Leads?"

"Richard Fannon is Consuelo's fiancé. He used to be a gang member but has been clean for a couple of years."

"He do it?"

"Don't think so. Solid alibi. We're searching his phone records to see who he's still in contact with. Maybe we'll get lucky, find the murder vehicle and connect it to the perps."

"Promising. Keep me in the loop and let me know about your meeting with Alvarez."

"Yes, Sir." Lisbon rose to leave.

Minelli motioned her back down. "Something else."

She reseated herself and looked curiously at Minelli. Minelli took a deep breath to make some trenchant comment. The effect was ruined when it ended in a coughing fit.

Lisbon smirked a little, having chided him about smoking long before they left the SFPD. "One of the reasons you smoke, Boss?"

Finally in control of his respiration again, "I'll have you know Little Miss Healthful Living, I no longer smoke!" he responded grumpily, their conversation veering into the warm and personal area that neither acknowledged existed.

Her jaw dropped. _That's it! No cigarette smoke._ "Virgil, that's wonderful! Uh, how'd you do it?"

"Damnedest thing. Jane."

Her eyebrows rose.

"He asked for a favor and offered to help me quit in return."

"He _bribed_ you?!"

"Now, Teresa, that's not the word I'd use. Just one colleague helping another."

Mind snapping back to the danger zone, "Um, what favor did Jane want?"

"He noticed there's an attic storage room. He wanted to use it."

"For?"

"Something about it being quiet for thinking."

Lisbon relaxed. _That sounds pretty harmless. _"Oh."

~.~.~.~.~

Lisbon returned to her office and dropped the folders on her desk. After scheduling a meeting with Alvarez, she went to the break room for coffee. Rigsby and Cho were working on their computers. "Hey. Where's Jane?"

Cho looked up. "Fraud borrowed him."

She squinted in confusion. "'Borrowed' him? For what?"

Cho muttered, "You don't want to know," which was too soft to catch. What she did pick up was his reluctance to give her a straight answer.

"Cho. Where is he?"

He looked up. Deadpan, "Interrogation 4. Feldstein and Townsend from Fraud are observing."

Five minutes confirmed her worst suspicion. Lisbon stalked back to her office. Jane sauntered.

Loud, angry. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

Mildly, "Um, helping fellow CBI colleagues? Is this a trick question?"

"Dammit, I meet with Minelli for a half hour and you're mired in some new illegal activity."

"Hypnosis isn't illegal."

"Hypnotizing suspects sure as hell is. Anything he says will be thrown out of court."

He shrugged, unconcerned. "Not my problem. I assume the Fraud guys know what they're doing."

She stood stiff, rendered speechless for the moment. "Are you nuts?! CBI employees aren't supposed to be engaging in illegal behavior, I don't care who says to. And that is _not_ the reputation I want for members of the SCU!"

He frowned a little. "I'm to assume I should refuse any further requests?"

She growled, "You will if you know what's good for you. No more hypnosis. Now get out of here. I don't even want to see you for the next hour."

He languidly rose "Aye, aye, captain."

"Go!"

**Cho**

Cho closed down the telephone records data he'd been sifting.

"Yo, Cho. Lunch?"

Cho shook his head. "I want to finish something. Bring me a burrito."

"'Kay." Rigsby grabbed his jacket and left.

The bullpen was empty except for Cho. _Lunchtime. My own time. Gonna get to the_ _bottom of this._ Cho had been thinking about the SCU, the team. The more he thought, the less Jane made sense._ Psychic, 'reading' people, tarot cards. Magic, card tricks, memorization. Pick-pocket, manipulating people. And now hypnosis? Who the hell _is_ this guy?_

Cho did a search on 'Patrick Jane.' Recent information about the minor celebrity psychic and his family's murder was readily available, widespread. The usual databases the CBI tapped for criminal investigations turned out to be ... not so useful. He soon added Google to his search. 'Hits' on the name further back in time dwindled drastically. Newspaper gossip columns devoted to the socially important turned out to be surprisingly useful. Patrick Jane was often mentioned as attending and entertaining at high-end affairs in California and nearby states. Real estate records revealed he bought the Malibu property for a cool five million, and then built a house on it. Apparently he paid cash since no mortgage was ever associated with that property.

"Hey, Cho. Here's your burrito." Cho looked up, then fished his wallet out to pay Rigsby.

"What're you working on?"

"Trying to pin down something," Cho answered vaguely.

Rigsby sat down at his desk, comfortably full and able to concentrate on the Gonzales case again.

Cho absently ate lunch while continuing his search. To his surprise, lists of college graduates were a bust. None listed a 'Patrick Jane' of the right age. Back in the early-'90's, when he expected Jane to have been attending college, he found references to a very, very minor Vegas act. He next tried lists of high school graduates, which often gave them a home town and students who could shed light on a person's background. In this case, nothing. Cho rubbed his head in frustration as the trail went cold. After getting a cup of coffee, he decided to check out 'Patrick Jane' search results for the whole country. He patiently sifted through dry listings of all the wrong people. After scanning a hundred wrong hits, he finally stumbled on an announcement in a small town newspaper from the early '80's. The carnival was making its yearly stop. The reporter saw fit to mention that the popular 'Patrick Jane, Boy Wonder' psychic would be there. _Pay dirt. He's carny. Crap!_

Cho leaned back in his chair and involuntarily glanced up from his desk. Jane had returned unnoticed and was reclining on his couch. He might have been asleep. But wasn't. His eyes were open a crack, focused on him. Cho swallowed and looked back impassively. Cho book-marked the reference then clicked off his computer. He casually got up and went to the break room for more coffee. He got his coffee and made his way to Lisbon's office.

"Cho?" she asked looking up.

"Can we meet? Privately?"

She frowned a bit. "Sure. Can it wait till after we round up Edward Thompson? Consuelo Gonzales identified him as someone we need to check out. Rigsby just got an address and SacPD reported a sighting."

"Fine."

"Leaving in five, Cho."

Cho returned to his desk and got ready, still preoccupied with what he'd learned. Jane wasn't just some guy who made a lot of money in borderline legal 'psychic' advising. Jane was carny, with all that implied. Carny meant a solid us-vs.-them perspective, a culture of lying and fraud, an ingrained hatred of cops and contempt for outsiders – for marks. Cho had met and dealt with carnies during his gang banger days and knew them well. A carny could never become a true member of the team. Jane was using them and wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice one or all for his own goals. They were nothing but marks. He was trouble and danger, especially adding in trauma from his family's murder and obsession with vengeance. Cho resolved to tell Lisbon what he'd found. He'd do everything he could to get Patrick Jane out of the SCU.

Lisbon showed them the photo of Thompson and ordered them to get a move on. Jane looked at Cho curiously as the group made its way down.

**Lisbon's Team Take-Down**

The team parked a half-block down from Thompson's home – a small, shabby house on the outskirts of the city. There was only one vehicle parked in front, a good sign. The black SUV with tinted windows matched the description of the vehicle used in the murder. Lisbon checked the license plate with binoculars, but it didn't have the two digits they were looking for.

"Cho, go take a look. Did they switch plates on that SUV?"

Switching plates to another car of the same make, model and year was a common ploy among gang members. Unless a cop checked the actual VIN, the plates would no longer be associated with the members who committed the crime.

Back after a few minutes, "Fresh scratches on the bolts. Dirt all around the plate, none on the plate itself. Plates were switched."

The area seemed deserted. A mangy stray dog trotted around, foraging for edible anything. There were no people in sight.

"Something about this feels hinky," Lisbon murmured. "I'm calling for back-up." She called SacPD and asked them to send a couple of units, which would take ten minutes. Unfortunately, they didn't have those ten minutes.

A car careened down the street a couple of blocks back, tires squealing, cop cruisers in hot pursuit. The steady whup-whup of the news helicopter blades drowned out all other sound. The helicopter followed close behind, intent on capturing sexy video for the nightly news. Lisbon looked back from the distraction in time to see Thompson sneak out of the house.

"Get him! Cho, in back. Rigs, take the side. I'm in front." They tumbled out of the SUV, using whatever cover was available. They wore electronic noise-canceling headphones, but the constant helicopter roar precluded conversation anyhow.

Catching sight of them, Thompson turned and ducked back inside. The front door slammed shut. Lisbon called, "Police! Come out with your hands up. We only want to talk." She couldn't hear herself above the 'copter noise, but knew the neon orange 'POLICE' on the Kevlar vests would serve as notification. Thompson broke out a window and fired shots their way. The bullets narrowly missed. Lisbon's team advanced on the house, ignoring the approaching car chase behind them.

Checking the rear view mirror, Jane decided to find cover outside rather than risk a crash from the car chase. He ended up hiding behind a low concrete wall bordering the driveway next to Thompson's house.

It was a disaster unfolding. Jane saw another gunman creep up behind Rigsby, who was focused on the Thompson house. Jane couldn't hear his own yelling above the 'copter noise. Cho rounded the corner in time to take in the coming disaster but was too far for a shot and out of Rigsby's line of sight.

Jane leaped up, waving his arms. The motion caught Rigsby's gaze. Jane pointed behind him, hand making the pretend shape of a gun. The gunman also noticed Jane and decided to off the easy target. Rigsby turned and fired just as Cho's tackle dropped Jane behind the wall. The second gunman fell, wounded. Lisbon winged Thompson as he made a dash for his SUV. Lisbon ran down and cuffed Thompson while Rigsby cautiously approached the other guy. The other guy was dead.

Cho got up and pulled his Kevlar vest straight. Jane lay prone on the concrete driveway, not moving. Lisbon hurried over. "Cho, you okay? Oh, God! Jane – is he–"

Jane groaned and managed, "Okay. I think." Cho gave him a hand up and held his arm as he wavered on his feet a bit.

_Sonofabitch. No vest. Jesus!_ "Jane, are you hurt?"

Groggy. "No. Uh, just had the wind knocked out of me." He looked at Cho. "Thanks."

Cho echoed, "Thanks" in return. He nodded and went over to Rigsby. "You okay?" he asked gruffly.

Pale, Rigsby swallowed noisily, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks, man."

"Thank Jane. I couldn't get there in time. No way to warn you."

Rigsby slapped him heavily on the shoulder. "Ended okay."

Cho roughly escorted Thompson to the SUV. The team waited for the ambulance for Thompson and for the ME's van for the dead gunman. At Lisbon's insistence, a paramedic cleaned the scrapes on Jane's face and applied an antibiotic ointment before leaving for the hospital. A uniformed officer accompanied Thompson to the hospital and would stand guard.

The team searched the house and Thompson's SUV for evidence. SacPD officers secured the site and cordoned it off with police tape. Forensics would arrive shortly to wrap up processing the scene. They got into the SUV and latched their seatbelts to head back to the CBI. After Thompson was patched up, Cho would bring him to the CBI for questioning. If he was medically unable, Thompson would be questioned at the hospital. Having killed the gunman, Rigsby was immediately sidelined pending psychological counseling and an evaluation of the shooting by Internal Affairs.

Jane whined about the pain. Lisbon responded, "Don't be such a baby, Jane. They're  
>scratches."<p>

"_Painful_ scratches."

"Which you wouldn't have if you stayed in the SUV."

"What? To get crashed by that lunatic driver?"

She sighed. "Next time you're at a take-down, you wear a vest."

He grinned despite the scratches and tugged at his vest.

Darkly, "Kevlar vest, dammit. Show some common sense."

"My common sense tells me to avoid anyplace there's gunfire."

"Well, if you can't..." She drove a little farther. Softly, "Good job, Jane. Just – be careful."

It was nine p.m. Thompson had finally confessed. Somehow, Cho was even more impassive, even more ruthless in questioning than ever. It turned out that Thompson killed Mateo Gonzales because he opposed his buddy Fannon's relationship with Consuelo. Thompson turned out to be a lethal mixture of violence, stupidity, ethnic hatred, and loyalty to his former gang leader. Upon learning Thompson had killed Consuelo's brother, Fannon spat at him and swore he'd kill him if Thompson came anywhere near him or Consuelo.

Lisbon sighed at the waste and stupidity as she finished up her notes. The rest of the  
>paperwork would wait till the next day when Rigsby and Cho finished their reports. She tried sending Jane home early – she frowned, <em>Wherever 'home' is for Jane, now<em>. He actually went once Cho had the confession. _One more thing and I can call it quits for today._

"Cho?" she poked her head into the bullpen. "I promised we could talk after the Thompson take-down."

Cho removed a book-mark and used his mouse to shut down his computer. "Forget it,  
>Boss."<p>

** "**We could do tomorrow since it's so late."

He looked up and swallowed. "It's nothing. –I see Jane made a choice."

Anxiety flashed over her face for a second at the thought of the unarmed, unprotected  
>civilian in a firefight. She blinked and set it aside. "Yeah. Didn't expect that."<p>

"Neither did I."


	14. Chapter 14 - Coming to Terms

**Chapter 14: Coming To Terms**

**Cho**

"Drive you home," Cho offered. Rigsby looked ragged around the edges, off balance after having killed a man. After almost being killed.

"I drove. I'm good." Rigsby didn't feel good. _Day I feel good after killing someone is the day I quit._ He was sure he was okay to drive.

Cho took stock of his partner as they waited for the elevator. "Okay," he relented once sure Rigsby would be all right. They rode down together. Cho didn't get off at the ground floor.

Noticing his surprise, Cho said, "I'm going to work it off. 'Night."

"Tomorrow."

_*Thud*_ Cho slammed his fist into the bag one last time and stood panting. After a moment he walked to the bench, sat, and uncorked his water bottle. _Wrong place, wrong time. Pure dumb luck Jane could help. _He wiped his face with a towel. _Miracle he _did_ help. _ Cho rose and tiredly walked to his locker. _Delivered when it mattered._

He showered, dried off, and dressed. The elevator chimed at ground floor before he noticed he'd forgotten to take his dirty gym clothes home for laundering. _Get 'em Monday._

The drive home was pleasant, the empty streets a welcome contrast to snarled morning traffic. He closed and locked his apartment door, shed jacket and shoes. Not ready to turn in, he got a soda and sank heavily into the comfortable armchair.

Eyes closed, he relived the take down. As before, he concluded there was nothing he should have done differently. It was Lisbon's call to keep Thompson from getting away even though back-up hadn't arrived. He couldn't fault that call. A gang member and – as it turned out – murderer would have disappeared if they waited. Three agents would have been enough for Thompson alone. The second gunman was the wild card. _Got the perp. Closed the case._

_Jane. Jane saved the day. On purpose? Yeah. Jane knew what he risked ... and did it anyway._ Cho snorted, amused._ Carnies are turning in their graves. One of their own risked his life to save a cop._

He sipped his soda._ Jane changed somewhere along the line. Hell, if a gang banger can change, why not a carny?_ But the parallel wasn't all that close. Gangs were all about loyalty to the group. _Us versus them. Us-the-team versus them. Switching to law enforcement isn't that big a stretch._

_ Carnies are a different breed. Near-pathological hatred of cops. Some us-versus-them, but more every-man-for-himself. What's Jane's game? He's here for the Red John info. No doubt he'll kill the SOB if he finds him. _After reflecting a moment, Cho reconsidered. _When__ he finds him. _Normally Cho didn't take seriously amateurs playing detective. Jane was in a class by himself.

_ Then what?_ _What will Lisbon do? _

_ What she always does, follow the law. Arrest Red John to stand trial for murder. _Cho inhaled and exhaled slowly._ This whole set-up is trouble. What the hell is the brass thinking? What are we doing using a civilian as bait? An unstable, grieving, unpredictable civilian. If Jane succeeds, what then? Arrest him? Shoot him so he doesn't murder a serial killer? -The serial killer who slaughtered his family. _Cho swallowed and shook his head, imagining that nightmare. _We follow orders, but it'd tear the SCU apart if it went down that way. The longer Jane's here, the worse it gets. He's helping close cases we'd never solve otherwise. Just saved Rigsby's life. Trust him to risk his life for Rigsby? Lisbon? Me? Apparently. Trust him to toe the line, follow the law?_ He snorted._ That's a laugh._

Cho finished the can and got up. _I'm sure of this much. We'll close a lot of cases. Red John's with us till he's nailed. And it won't be boring – or easy._

**Rigsby**

Rigsby closed the door, threw the deadbolt. He fished around to unstrap his gun till he remembered he had turned it in before leaving the CBI. SOP after any fatal shooting. Mandatory relinquishment of service piece. Mandatory investigation. Mandatory psych counseling. He had left the empty holster in his desk drawer.

He near-collapsed onto a kitchen chair. He cradled his head in hands that were shaking. _I almost died today. Christ. A second scumbag with a gun and it's over. Thank god for Jane._ He frowned and shook his head._ Geez, the guy's fun, scary smart. But risk getting shot? Hell, he doesn't even know me that well._

Rigsby raised his head and took deep breaths till the shakes subsided. He tiredly rose and dug around in his refrigerator. _Beer. Better than nothing._ He pulled out leftover pizza and put three slices on a plate to heat in the microwave. He took beer and pizza into the living room, set it on the coffee table and plopped down on his couch. Two slices later, he had calmed down somewhat.

He yawned so hard his jaw cracked. _Wish I had someone to talk to. _Thoughts flitted to that red-haired waitress, but he quashed that idea immediately. _'Come over and let me screw your brains out because I almost bought it today'? Great pick-up line. _He groaned in perpetual frustration but more at the emptiness._ No one to talk to on what could'a been the most important day of my life. There's no better partner, but Cho's not much for talking._ A grin surfaced as he snorted at the illogic. _If it _had_ happened, I sure as hell wouldn't be talking about it. _He took a big bite from the last slice._ No one to blame – 'cept maybe those morons in the news 'copter. _He shrugged. _Hell, they're just doing their jobs._ Belly full, no bullet holes, he sat straighter, finally feeling better. _Coulda, woulda, shoulda. Shit happens but it wasn't my time._

After taking bottle and plate to the kitchen, he made his way to the bedroom. After a long, scalding shower he figured he had a shot at sleeping through the night.

**Lisbon**

Lisbon dropped keys, badge and holstered gun on the foyer table. After kicking off her shoes, she sorted the mail at the kitchen counter. Curious about the package, she pulled the zip-tab. _The Devastation of Life After Tragedy. Forgot I ordered that._ It joined _Grieving and Moving On,_ and_ Survivor's Guilt_ on a shelf in the living room.

Every joint and muscle ached. It was maybe 20 percent from apprehending and cuffing Thompson and 80 percent from the day's near tragedy. _No, an actual tragedy. Rigsby had to kill a man._ Though late, she popped a coffee pack into her brewing machine, needing the comfort but unwilling to use booze and uninterested in a meal. A few minutes later, she took coffee and a bowl of ice cream into her living room and sat down to unwind. She moved to click on the TV then stopped in mid-motion. TV would be no distraction. No distraction at all.

Hot coffee gradually relaxed her. Lisbon mellowed from grim to serious as sugar from the coffee and ice cream lightened her mood. She settled against the cushions, closed her eyes, and forced herself to go over the take-down. _Thompson was gonna run. Mobilize or lose him, couldn't wait for back-up. Three should've been enough. I had the front door. Rigs, side door. Cho, in back. Thompson ignored my warning and fired at us. Bastard was a good shot. We advanced slowly, sticking to cover. Next thing I know, Jane stands up, waving his arms. Points behind Rigs. Cho tackles Jane. Rigs turns and shoots the second gunman. _She exhaled in relief._ Thank you, God, for protecting my guys. _

_ What should I have done different? Kept someone back to manage the operation. But with three doors I had no choice. Dammit, we need that fourth agent! Thank God Rigs is okay. As much as he can be after killing - what was his name? – Donald "Pitbull" Jeffries. Internal Affairs will investigate. Not worried. My actions were justified. And Rigs fired in by‑the‑book self‑defense._ She furrowed her eyebrows. This was her first interaction with the IAU head. _LaRoche is weird, but s'posed to be smart and above reproach. Good._

_ Will Rigsby be all right?_ Lisbon sighed. Thinking back to his professional file, she was grateful it wasn't his first fatal shooting as a law officer. _Gotta keep an eye on him for awhile. Make sure. At least there're no worries about Cho. Rigsby wasn't hurt so Cho's okay. Wonder what he wanted earlier?_ She tsked, dismissing it. If it wasn't important enough for him to pursue she wasn't going to worry about it.

_And Jane._ She thought back to his expression immediately after the shooting. Her eyes narrowed, _More ... startled than anything. Why'd he do it? Not a cop, no cop instincts. Sure as hell no training. _She grunted. _Uncomfortable with violence. Hates guns. Fake psychic. Why would someone like that risk his life to save Rigsby? He's only worked with us half a year._

Her gaze paused on the photo on the mantle. It had been snapped by Minelli's assistant at the CBI Christmas party. _Cho, Rigsby, and me. Hannigan already left the party with his drinking buddies._ She closed her eyes in pain. _Hannigan's partner was shot last week. Still critical. Rumor is Hannigan was drunk._ Her stomach twisted. _But for the grace of God... Dumped Hannigan, got Jane. Better? Unquestionably. Uncontrollable, but brilliant. He _saved_ Rigsby instead of getting him shot by being drunk._

Her eyes moved to the book she'd shelved earlier. _What have I got, then? Thought I could keep Jane in the office, just get his insights. _She huffed._ That didn't work. So now I have a traumatized, grieving widower out in the field, untrained and unarmed. For his own good he probably should be as far away from murder scenes as possible. They can't possibly help him ... heal. He's only a year-and-a-half from the slaughter of his family. _ She shied away from acknowledging her churning stomach from events 20 years earlier in her own life._ And it's not just loss, but guilt too._ She flicked to the book titles._ Survivor guilt. Plane crash victims have it, even with zero responsibility. And Jane thinks his Red John comments caused the murders. Jesus. I've gotta talk to him. Get him to be careful. _She ruminated on that imaginary conversation, realizing how impossible it would be with someone so slippery, so unwilling to be seen.

_ Heal? Move on? I'm kidding myself. What gets him up in the morning is hunting Red John. _She swallowed a lump. _Probably shouldn't be here at all. But if not here, where? _Lisbon recalled the Jane who showed up at the CBI. _He wasn't doing well. Yeah, sure, he's covering, but solving cases, being part of something is helping. Isn't it? _She flicked back to the photo. Suddenly certain, _Yes, it is. He saved Rigs because the team means something to him. I can work with that. I know his goal is killing Red John, and I know he'll never operate remotely like a law-enforcement professional. But he'll close cases. And maybe, just maybe I can get him to buy into the team._ She snorted and acknowledged the other side of the coin. _And get the team to buy into him! Maybe the normal world, a routine plus the satisfaction of solving crimes and punishing perps, will - eventually - give him another reason to get up in the morning._

It wasn't till Lisbon rose to put mug and bowl in the sink that it struck her._ I'm calling homicide investigations the 'normal world'? How screwed up is that!_ She shrugged. _Just have to work harder. Fold him into the team, get him to care about more than Red John. _

_If I can._

**Jane**

The SCU had its confession, the case was officially closed. Jane finally acquiesced to Lisbon's order to go home and rest. He took the elevator down and drove to the extended stay motel on autopilot. Once inside he stood, indecisive and restless. He shook his head, turned and went back out.

Hours later he reached the coast. He parked, walked down to the beach and found a smooth rock to lean against. Summer temperatures were warm, comfortable even at night. The black water roiled heavily, lapping and sloshing, ever in motion. White foam topped small waves which rushed up the beach then retreated as quickly. The night was inky black. Stars twinkled, pinpricks of blue-white. After having compartmentalized, deferred, and refused to think for hours he couldn't put it off any longer.

_What _happened_ today?_ He was still stunned. _I ... I jumped up to get Rigsby's attention. Warn him. How the _hell_ does risking my life help me get Red John? I owe my allegiance to Angie and Charlie. Not a dumb cop in harm's way._

As soon as he thought it he knew it was a lie. Murder scenes from the last six months clicked through his mind like a slide show. Gunshot wounds. Stabbings. Strangulation. A poisoning. Head wounds from 'blunt object trauma.' On and on. Unbidden, an image surfaced of Rigsby lying in a pool of blood, blue eyes open and blank, chest mangled by bullet wounds. Jane swallowed heavily, forcing down bile. _Big, amiable, straightforward Rigsby. No, no, don't want that. Not if I can prevent it._

After Angela and Charlotte and dozens of other murders he'd seen, he had his fill. He was now more inured to the gore and violence of the scenes they went to every week. His mask was perfect. It had to be to hide the nausea that hit him with every murder, especially the gory ones. He wasn't violent by nature, though he _would_ make an exception for Red John. And enjoy every minute of vengeance for the murder of his wife and child. But he was nowhere near indifferent to the thought of a friend being murdered. He frowned. _Wait. 'Friend'?! They're marks. I need the CBI to get Red John. The team are marks to play till I succeed. Cases are amusing puzzles that help pass the time. _He squelched any further thought and lost himself in the rhythmic motion of the waves. Lack of sleep and exhaustion from the day's events prevailed.

Jane woke to pink fingers of dawn layering the horizon and casting rosy light on the dark ocean. _Saturday._ He stiffly rose and stretched, suit wrinkled and damp from his night on the beach. _Lucky a cop didn't roust me for sleeping in public._ He shuffled back to the Citroen, grateful for the several hours of not just sleep – rest, but unconsciousness. Time passed free of thought and, miraculously, nightmares. A dry throat and rumbling stomach reminded him it had been 18 hours since he last ate. After brushing himself off and smoothing wrinkles as best as possible, he went to a diner he knew from trips to San Francisco for psychic performances. Blessedly, no one recognized him. He was left to eat in silence and peace.

He drove back to Sacramento via the scenic route because it took longer. He showered and changed into fresh clothes. Then – nothing. There were 43 more hours to kill before start of the workday on Monday. He had to scrounge for distractions to avoid thinking. The afternoon found him at an outdoor market, eating fruit and people-watching. Or, more accurately, people _reading_. Tiring of that after an hour, he found a secluded table, sat, and leaned back with eyes closed, finally surrendering to the unavoidable.

_What the hell happened?_ Rested and fed, he was determined to take another crack at Friday's events. He knew he was lying to himself, a dangerous indulgence for a con man._ We were working the case. The three musketeers went after Thompson ... without knowing another gang member was trying to even the odds. Jeffries was stalking Rigsby. Cho was too far away, Lisbon didn't see him. The helicopter drowned out our shouts. Rigsby would have been shot. Killed._

_I had to get Rigs's attention if I didn't want him killed. What choice did I have?_ A cynical voice in the back of his mind sounded suspiciously like his father: _Not your job to save some cop. His bad luck._ Jane drew a deep breath, annoyed at recalling the detested voice. _What– _he swallowed_, – if I didn't do it? Rigsby would have been killed. Would Lisbon or Cho blame me? Kick me out of the CBI? No. No, they didn't expect me to do anything. So why? _A woman's voice shimmered in his head: _You're better than that, Paddy. You pretend, but you're not so hard you could let someone you know, someone you _like,_ be killed. _

He abruptly stood. He tossed his trash in a receptacle and started walking in a direction chosen at random. _I don't _want_ to like them. I just want to kill Red John and ... be done. I don't need more people to care about, cops who might be killed. They're distractions. I have no need, no right to care about them._ He was walking fast, almost running, by the time he came to a cross street. He panted a little, waiting for the light to change, then forgot to move when it did. Saturday crowds parted around him, a rock in a stream. After a couple of light cycles_,_ Jane shook himself back to the present, turned and retraced his steps.

The farmer's market was closing up for the day. Jane bought strawberries, blueberries and apples for later. On his way back to the Citroen he checked a wall clock through a shop window. _Five p.m. Get back to the motel, maybe get dinner. Just one more day till Monday. _That stopped him dead._ Why do I care?_ He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Jane got into his car but didn't start it. _I–_ he licked his lips,_ –look forward to work. The routine. Cases. People. There's no other place I want to be. _He blinked and his face stretched into a grimace. _I wasn't doing so well before. The house. Smiley face. Too much time to think. Even when Sophie signed my release, it wasn't good. _He cleared his throat and admitted aloud to himself, "I can't fall apart and get Red John."

_Maybe I need the CBI as much as food and sleep_. He snorted at that. Precious little sleep graced his nights. He sighed and sagged against the seat back, enervated. _If I let Rigsby die, things would change. I _need_ the SCU. They might help find Red John. More important, they're helping me till I find him. I ... like them. I like that they care if I live or die, at least a little. If Rigsby got killed, I'd feel guilty. _He shook his head minutely. _Don't need more regrets, more guilt._ He shook himself out of his thoughts and started the car. Sweet laughter sounded faintly in his head. Angela would have approved.


	15. Chapter 15 - Rumor Mill

**Chapter 15: Rumor Mill**

**Cho, Jane and Lisbon**

Cho parked near the CBI entrance. The perq was still novel enough to trigger a pleasant thrum of satisfaction and almost, almost offset the hassle of the bad commute in Sacramento's morning traffic. He ignored – okay, enjoyed – the envious stares of agents whose cars were backed up into the street waiting to enter the parking garage. _Jane called it. Four months now. By god, we'll keep these spaces forever._ Cho didn't hesitate to enjoy what they'd earned.

Once inside, Cho skipped the packed "up" elevator cars and took an empty "down" car to the basement gym. He briskly walked past the gym's dark glass doors, entered the men's locker room, and swapped fresh for dirty gym clothes. The gym lights were on when he walked back. _Motion sensors control the lights. Someone must be here._ It looked empty till he espied a mop of blond curls attached to a figure sleeping on a bench. Cho walked over. Several strength training machines had obviously been used. A treadmill blinked "8.3 mi." and patiently waited for the user to resume.

Cho looked down at his teammate for a moment. The SCU consultant clearly fell asleep after working out, a fairly frequent occurrence over the last half-dozen months. When he'd started at the SCU, Jane looked like he'd been inactive and eating poorly for a long time. Cho noted he'd gained weight and muscle since then. Still, the reason he was here wasn't so great. Cho realized early on Jane exercised to tire himself out, a last ditch measure to sleep.

Cho nudged the figure with his knee. "Jane. Wake up." Arm across his eyes, Jane made a muffled sound but didn't wake. Louder. "Jane, get up."

He frowned and blinked. "Cho. Uh, what time is it?"

"Starting time. You can sleep on your couch."

Jane got up, stretching the stiffness out. "Thanks," he mumbled and headed to the locker room.

Jane appeared in the SCU bullpen twenty minutes later, hair damp, freshly shaven and immaculately dressed. He sauntered over. "Hey, Cho. Where's Rigsby? –We get a case?" he asked hopefully.

"No. Rigsby's with Internal Affairs. No cases till he's cleared."

Jane ambled over to Lisbon's office. The completed renovation had delivered all that was promised: A comfortable, functional, attractive CBI headquarters. Jane missed the cafeteria eliminated by the renovation, but everything else was a big improvement. Lisbon finally had an office with real walls and a door, which he opened to enter.

Lisbon glanced up. "Ever hear of knocking, Jane?" she asked, but it lacked bite. She took a moment to look him over, wondering how he'd react after Friday's events. Disappointed, she saw Jane's pleasant, neutral mask was firmly in place. _No opening to talk, then._

He smiled, sat down, and set his tea on her desk. "No work, so I thought I'd catch up with my favorite boss. How was your weekend?"

She snorted and said, "Your _only_ boss. You treat _'boss' a_s a polite fiction, anyway" sidestepping the other question.

He gently blew on the scalding liquid. "We can't get cases till Rigsby's cleared?"

She straightened. "Regulations. Teams need at least four for new cases."

His eyebrows rose. "So getting a consultant let you get rid of Hannigan."

A smile struggled to surface, at odds with the glower she affected. "Why else would I volunteer to manage a nightmare like you?"

The corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile at what she'd finally admitted, albeit indirectly. "You wound me, Lisbon. Thought you liked closed cases."

"We closed cases before, y'know."

"Just not so many so fast."

"Your humility astonishes me. Hush." She took a bite of jelly doughnut to keep from smiling.

He whined, "So what am I supposed to do till we get cases again?" He brightened. "I could help other teams. The–"

"No! I'm not turning you loose on other teams. Wouldn't know what hit 'em."

"So possessive!" He smiled and sipped his tea. "Well, I could show you a trick I–"

"Almost forgot. Internal Affairs will call to interview you for their investigation. Also, you need to make an appointment with the CBI psychiatrist." She handed him a slip of paper with the phone number.

Jane's smile faded. "No psychiatrist._ I_ didn't shoot anyone," he said reasonably.

"Rules. You're a civilian who faced a life-threatening situation on the job."

"So seeing a shrink gets the state off the hook if there's a problem. –No."

Lisbon set her pen down and leaned back. "You know, having you consult from the office is okay with me." She waved at the paperwork on her desk. "Cut down on complaints. No worries about a civilian in firefights. Your choice."

He got up, mask carefully in place. "Blackmail, Lisbon. Thought you were above that."

Taking another bite, she answered indistinctly, "I'm learning from the best. Soon, Jane. I want to get back in the field."

Jane wandered back to the bullpen. He sat on his couch and allowed himself a petulant grimace.

"Lisbon told you about the interviews?"

Jane nodded. Looking at the pile of files on Cho's desk, "Case is closed. What're you working on?"

"Cold cases." Cho shrugged. "Usually pointless, but I get bored otherwise."

After a moment, Jane grabbed a handful of files and settled back on the couch. Cho looked down to hide the smile that would trigger a Jane reprisal. Jane was called by the IAU assistant after reading several files.

**Rigsby and the Internal Affairs Unit**

Rigsby got off the elevator on the 6th floor, home of the Internal Affairs Unit, and was directed to an office. A medium height man, brown hair and eyes, rose and shook his hand. "Agent Rigsby, I'm Senior Agent Tresnowski. I'll be conducting your interview." He motioned Rigsby to sit while seating himself behind the desk.

Tresnowski silently looked over the papers in a folder stamped "Rigsby, W. - Jeffries, D." in red block letters. While waiting, Rigsby wondered why he was being interviewed before his teammates. _Doesn't make sense. I could lie and my team could corroborate my story. -Dammit, pay attention_, he admonished himself. Rigsby shifted uneasily. He forced his hands still, suppressing the desire to loosen his suddenly tight collar. _Did nothing wrong but I'm acting guilty._ He took a deep breath and deliberately relaxed.

"Agent Rigsby, an Internal Affairs investigation is mandatory when a fatality occurs while on duty. This investigation can result in disciplinary action up to and including dismissal and criminal charges if your actions were unjustified. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"You are entitled to have a union representative present. Will you avail yourself of that right?"

"No, sir."

"Recount in your own words what happened last Friday afternoon, August 9, starting with your arrival at the scene of the shooting."

"We arrived at 981 Creek Road in Sacramento at about 2:45 p.m. to interview Edward Thompson for the Mateo Gonzales murder case. The SUV parked outside the house matched the description of the vehicle used for the drive-by shooting of Gonzales. The plates didn't match, but appeared to have been switched. Agent Lisbon called SacPD for back-up–"

"That would be the Sacramento Police Department?"

"Yes. We were waiting for back-up to arrive when a police chase several blocks away created a distraction. Thompson used the distraction to exit the house and head for his SUV. Agent Lisbon directed us to stop the fleeing subject–"

"–Thompson was an actual suspect?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't wait for back-up. Why?"

"A suspect in a murder investigation was attempting to flee." He said carefully, "I assume Agent Lisbon thought stopping him was important despite lack of back-up."

"Continue."

"We had Kevlar vests on. I was ordered to cover the side door. Agent Cho covered the back door. Agent Lisbon took the front door."

"Wasn't the Serious Crimes Unit consultant Patrick Jane also present?"

"Yes. He was ordered to stay in the SUV."

"Why?"

"He isn't trained as an agent and doesn't carry a weapon."

"So no one was managing the overall situation."

Rigsby's throat tightened, but he managed to reply after a second, "Agent Lisbon managed the situation. The SCU doesn't have its fourth agent yet because of the budget. All three of us were needed for the take down because of the three doors."

"Proceed."

"I focused on the side door as ordered. Thompson started firing on us as soon as he was back in the house. The next thing I know, Jane is standing in the driveway next door waving to attract my attention. He pointed behind me indicating a gun."

"How did he do that?"

"With his hand." Rigsby made the shape of a gun with his forefinger and thumb extended, other fingers curled inward.

"Why wasn't Jane inside the CBI vehicle as ordered?"

"The car chase was headed toward us. Jane later said he was afraid of a crash."

"Where were Agents Lisbon and Cho?"

"Agent Lisbon was facing the front door, focused on Thompson. I couldn't see Agent Cho around the back of the house."

"Why didn't Patrick Jane just yell?"

"A news helicopter was following the car chase. The noise drowned out everything. We had noise-canceling hearing protectors but the constant noise blocked conversation."

"Continue."

"After Patrick Jane alerted me, I turned and saw another man with a gun. He fired at Jane and then I shot him."

"So the second gunman - later identified as Donald Jeffries - wasn't threatening you at the time?"

Frustrated, "He had just tried to kill a member of my team and pointed his weapon back at me. I had no choice but to defend myself."

"How did Jeffries know you were police with the helicopter noise?"

To his horror, Rigsby drew a blank for a moment. Then, "Our Kevlar vests had 'POLICE' printed in neon orange."

"Agent Rigsby, why again do you think Agent Lisbon failed to wait for back-up?"

Rigsby set his jaw, but answered calmly. "Because a murder suspect was about to flee."

"And why did Patrick Jane ignore clear orders from Agent Lisbon?"

"Jane said he was afraid the car being chased by police would crash our CBI vehicle."

"Did you try to warn Jeffries before you fired?"

"There was no way to warn him because of the helicopter noise."

"Did you believe you were in mortal danger?"

"Yes, sir. Jeffries had shot at my teammate and turned his weapon on me."

"What happened after you shot Jeffries?"

"When I checked, he was dead."

"What happened to Edward Thompson?"

"Agent Lisbon shot him in the arm when he tried to run a second time. She tackled him and cuffed him. An ambulance took him to County General Hospital for treatment."

"Thank you Agent Rigsby. Is there anything else you want to add to your statement?"

Rigsby swallowed with difficulty, then said, "Yes. I've gone over the events in my mind several times. There was no way we could have stopped Jeffries from killing me and maybe others from my team except by shooting him."

"You may go, Agent."

Rigsby rose. "When will your report be issued?"

Tresnowski looked up, expression unreadable. "After our interviews are complete. I expect that will be later this week."

Rigsby nodded and left, feeling like he'd been justifying his life to God for the last half hour. Nerves getting the better of him, he stopped to use the nearby men's room. Two agents continued talking as they walked in. They didn't notice Rigsby in a stall as they used the facilities.

"Four months! We'll never get a shot at those spaces again," a gravelly voice complained.

"Yeah," the other seconded. "That con man they've got working for 'em solves all their cases. Hell, I dunno why the rest bother to come in."

"Hey! You hear the tall one killed a suspect?"

"Uh-huh. Justified from what I hear. –Guess he's some use after all."

"Whole unit's a freak show. Woman boss regularly busts their chops. Ever hear her?"

"Big mouth, but good rep. Why she hired a gang banger and that biker's–" The conversation was cut off as the men's room door closed.

**LaRoche and Jane**

The stairwell door closed slowly as Patrick Jane entered the 6th floor. He looked around curiously, not having had much reason to haunt this floor, home of the CBI bigwigs (_Meh, 'bigger' wigs,_ Jane amended) and certain administrative units such as Legal Oversight and Internal Affairs (he smirked slightly at the jokes inevitably inspired by the name). He stopped by the assistant's desk and was directed to an office. Jane entered and sat down in front of the desk, the picture of ease.

Jane and the big, bald man behind the desk studied each other. The man silently stared for a full minute. Jane noticed LaRoche's eyes jitter in their sockets and wondered if the rumor of a medical condition was correct. LaRoche finally spoke, his robotic monotone making Cho look effervescent by comparison.

"I'm Special Agent LaRoche. Patrick Jane, consultant for the Serious Crimes Unit," he stated. After a moment, "Mr. Jane?"

"Yes? Please continue," Jane said with a smile. _No reaction. Point for LaRoche._

After a moment, LaRoche began, "This interview is pursuant to the fatal shooting of Donald Jeffries by Agent Wayne Rigsby, your teammate in the Serious Crimes Unit, on Friday, August 9th. Recount the events starting with your arrival at the scene and concluding with the death of Jeffries."

Demeanor bland, nearly bored, Jane quickly summarized the events.

"Mr. Jane, why did you disobey Senior Agent Lisbon's order to remain in the CBI vehicle?"

Jane's eyes brightened. _Now we're getting to the point._ "The car chase headed our way could have caused a crash with our SUV. I felt safer outside," he replied smoothly.

"Where there was a firefight underway?"

"Yes."

"Were you armed?"

"No. I took cover behind a concrete wall."

"Which you left to warn Rigsby?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Jane's mouth. "Ah, finally getting to the point. –Because my–" he emphasized, "–_team member_ was about to be shot – killed."

"You were unarmed without a bulletproof vest. You risked your life."

After a beat, "Was there a question?"

LaRoche took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "You are a civilian assigned to the SCU for about six months. That is sufficient ... motivation for you to risk your life?"

"In this case."

"Are you similarly heroic in your other consulting endeavors?"

"It hasn't come up in the past." Jane added coolly, "The SCU investigates homicides, something I feel is important. I devote my efforts to furthering its purpose."

"Such as homicides attributed to the Red John serial killer?"

"Among others, yes."

LaRoche leaned back and let the silence grow for several minutes. "Mr. Jane, your explanation of your actions does not completely make sense."

Jane smiled. "There are numerous aspects of the CBI that don't completely make sense. That doesn't automatically indicate anything nefarious." He leaned forward slightly. "Rigsby's interview was straightforward. His action was completely justified. In fact–" his eyes glittered with a sudden realization, "it was so clear-cut you left Rigsby's interview to a subordinate." His smile widened as LaRoche's small tell confirmed his guess. "So pressing me is more about ... me, isn't it? You're suspicious based on the rumor mill, but you want your own take. Ask away."

"I question the wisdom of hiring you. I _am_ concerned when someone not from a law-enforcement culture is intimately involved in complex homicide cases. The involvement of prominent and wealthy citizens presents the constant risk of judgment errors."

Jane outright grinned. "Agent LaRoche, your efforts to protect organizational virtue are admirable. Never fear." His smile was as wide, but suddenly chilled instead of warmed. "My motives involve no corruption whatsoever. In fact, people who are corrupt have reason to fear me. I'm good at solving cases, no matter the murderer's political or financial prominence. Money and politics don't interest me."

"What _does_ interest you?"

"Solving cases. Justice."

"How about the law?"

"Senior Agent Lisbon has that covered."

"Agent Lisbon has a fine record. It would be unfortunate if–" LaRoche broke off as his assistant handed him a note. Jane's gaze sharpened as he picked up on a suddenly shaken LaRoche. "Mr. Jane, unless you have something to add, I have all the information needed from you regarding the Rigsby-Jeffries matter."

After a hard glance, Jane stood. "It's been interesting, Agent LaRoche."

**Lisbon's Team**

Lisbon strode out of her office. "Cho, we need to go back to the bank and Thompson's house. Double-check some details for my report."

"Problem?" asked Cho.

"No. Just dotting 'i's and crossing 't's. Since this involves the IAU, I don't want any loose ends."

Jane rose as Cho donned his suit jacket. "I'm coming!" Rigsby gloomily continued working on his computer, stuck in the office till cleared by the IAU and shrink.

Once at the bank, Lisbon and Cho checked details with the people they had interviewed. She spoke with the bank president and Consuela Gonzales. Since Gonzales was working, it was the most convenient place to confirm the information. With nothing specific to do, Jane first spent time looking at the authentic artwork lining the walls. They were still occupied when Jane finished and wandered outside to an art show in the plaza next to the bank.

Cho found Jane fifteen minutes later, perusing pictures made with marquetry.

"Jane, we're done."

Jane turned with a start.

Cho frowned. "Tell me you haven't been standing in the sun in a three-piece suit."

"Didn't seem that hot," Jane muttered, only then realizing it was indeed that hot.

They went on to Thompson's house. Lisbon and Cho tackled a list of details to pin down, largely concerning the agents' positions during the take down. While they worked Jane checked out Thompson's house and was poking around neighboring houses. When she caught sight of him again Jane was standing by the concrete wall that had shielded him. _Looks a little off, but is taking it okay. How will I ever really talk to the man?_ Lisbon had Cho fetch Jane while she jotted down the final numbers.

"Jane, let's go."

Jane looked up from his reverie by the wall, swaying slightly.

Cho grabbed his arm, steadying him. "Too dumb to get out of the sun. C'mon."

Lisbon passed around chilled water from the cooler in the SUV as they rode back. She headed for her office to wrap up her report. Jane sank down on the couch, bottle of water still in hand. Cho remained standing.

"Rigs, lunch?"

"Yeah!" He jumped up and grabbed his jacket.

"Jane, join us."

Jane looked up. "I'm fine."

Cho walked over and stared down. "No breakfast. You almost passed out from the heat at Thompson's. Sick team members are a pain. You're coming."

Jane looked up at him, head tilted quizzically. "Really?"

"Yeah. Let's go." They left the CBI.

"Rigs, your turn to choose."

"Taco joint okay?"

"Sure." Cho glanced at Jane. "We rotate. You choose tomorrow." Rigsby looked over in surprise.

Eyebrows raised, "Tomorrow?" Jane asked.

"There an echo, or what?" Cho grumbled but nodded.

Jane proved to be entertaining company. A ten minute riff covered the virtues of corn tortillas versus wheat, the rise of gluten intolerance possibly being connected to the use of genetically modified wheat, Norman Borlaug and the "Green Revolution," the impossibility of abandoning modern agriculture without triggering widespread famine, and world development and environmentalism. _No wonder he wanders. That's how his brain works, _Cho observed, amused.

"What's so funny, Jane?" Rigsby asked.

Jane tore his gaze from the man who was walking away after buying lunch. "Him."

"Why?"

Jane motioned with his soda cup. "The 5' 6" man walking away is about to propose to his much taller girlfriend. He's afraid she'll say no because he's short."

"Which is funny _why_?" asked Cho.

"Because she's head over heels for him."

Rigsby's face crunched up in puzzlement. "How do you figure? And he doesn't look _that_ short." The man in question stopped at the corner, looking down the street at something out of sight.

"He is that short and self-conscious about it–"

"Which you know, how?"

"Wears lifts. You can tell by how he walks." Cho and Rigsby exchanged glances.

"And about his girlfriend?"

"Cheap suit, v-e-r-y expensive watch. Girlfriend."

"Could be a relative, mother or someone."

"Nope. His clothing would also be better quality then. Girlfriend. She just hasn't had the chance to clean him up yet."

"And?"

"He keeps patting his chest. You can just make out a small, square shape."

"Jewelry box for a ring?"

"Got it."

As they watched, a statuesque 20's something woman walked up and greeted the man with a sizzling kiss. The two agents exchanged glances again. Jane amused them all with several more cold readings till he excused himself to go to the men's room.

"Okay, Rigsby. Spill."

"What?"

"You're acting strange. Half appreciation, half irritation with Jane. What's up?"

"Nothing."

"He'll be back in a minute. Tell me now or tell me after he's back."

"Dammit, Cho. Of course I'm grateful. He saved my life."

"–And?"

Rigsby scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. "Overheard some agents on the 6th floor. They were bitching about the SCU monopolizing the parking spaces for best team."

"So?"

He swallowed. "They think Jane solves the cases – that we're dead weight."

"Stupid."

Rigsby shrugged uneasily. "Is it? I sure as hell know I'm not that smart."

Cho sighed. "It's not just about smart. Jane can't solve cases without the information we gather. Jane hates fighting and guns. Would never make the arrests. Buck up, Rigs."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"No. Would bother me if it was true."

"They were also bad mouthing Lisbon."

"How?"

"Said she's, well, tough. Brusque."

"Bitchy."

"Yeah."

"Has to if she wants to be taken seriously. You know better."

"Don't like them saying it."

"Can't call them on it if you just overheard."

Glumly, "I know. There's another thing–" Rigsby started, then saw Jane walking back, "Maybe later."

Jane returned. He looked searchingly at them, then nodded. "Great choice, Rigsby. I know a good Thai place for tomorrow."

They walked back in companionable silence.

**The SCU**

"Where is everyone?" Lisbon asked as she walked back from the break room.

"Cho's at his IAU interview. Jane went to see the shrink."

She smiled. "Glad he's finally going along." Her smile vanished as said blond consultant got off the elevator.

Jane smiled and handed Lisbon a sheet of paper with a flourish. "Voila! Cleared for field work, oh fearless one."

"How? You were only gone five minutes," protested Rigsby.

Lisbon skimmed the form. "You released the CBI from all liability?" She looked up in dismay, "Jane, you're missing the point."

"I got the point perfectly. I am relieving the CBI of any liability without a pointless waste of time meeting with the CBI shrink. –Probably a quack, anyhow."

"Jane!"

"Lisbon!"

She took a breath and held her temper. "In my office. We need to talk."

Jane arrived a few minutes later, cup and saucer in hand. He sat down, then frowned as she got up and closed the door.

"That's ominous."

"Jane, I need you to take this seriously."

He leaned back with a cheeky grin. "I take _you_ seriously. The shrink and bureaucracy? Not so much."

Lisbon closed her eyes for a moment, then started again, calmly. "Jane, I don't care about the legalities. I do care about whether you're okay–"

"–I am."

"–and whether you'll put others at risk if you're not."

"Fair enough. What do you suggest?"

"I'd feel better if you went to the counseling sessions and really got cleared for field work."

"I can't–_won't_ do that. Lisbon, what's the point? You know I could convince a shrink of anything necessary to get the authorization."

Losing the argument and her temper, "Dammit, forget the shrink, then. How about talking to _me_?"

He sobered. "What do you want me to say?"

"How are you really in dealing with putting your life in danger?"

"I'm fine."

She took a quick, deep breath. Sarcastically, "_Of course._ Because facing lethal threats happens every day, I suppose."

Coolly. "It's happened before."

Surprised, "It has?"

"You'd be surprised how irritated people get when bilked out of their money. I've been in a few tight places in my time."

"And this time?"

He swallowed and looked away. "I'd prefer not to make a habit of it. But it's okay."

"How do I know that, Jane? Any flashbacks? Nightmares?"

He couldn't help snorting in derision. "Nightmares? Over that? Surely you jest, Lisbon!"

She waited silently.

He closed his eyes, then opened them and locked his gaze onto hers. "No. No nightmares from that. I–" he swallowed, "I was glad I kept Rigsby from getting shot."

She said softly, "And how will it be the next time there's a firefight?"

He drew a deep breath. "You know me, Lisbon. I'm more than happy leaving the guns to you agents."

"How do I know you won't freeze and put yourself in danger?"

"I didn't freeze this time, won't next time."

"And how about being reckless?"

He grimaced briefly, leaving her wonder if she'd really even seen it. "Sometimes I have to push people to read them. But I don't enjoy pain. I'll be as careful as ever."

Lisbon leaned back, resigned. "Jane, that's not exactly comforting. I ... understand about pushing people to get them to reveal themselves. But you need to be more careful. There's no guarantee we'll always make it in time to protect you." She looked directly at him again. "Promise you will be more careful."

Serious, but with his mask firmly back in place, "I promise to try, Lisbon." He finished his cup of tea and looked down at the cup. "Are we done?"

"For now. If I feel you're being reckless and unsafe for yourself, the team, or the public, we're going to revisit this."

"Okay." Jane left Lisbon's office.

Jane was out of the bullpen a few days later to get a flat tire repaired. Lisbon called Cho and Rigsby into her office and told them two new rules. The first was that Jane was not to be left alone at crime scenes. The second was that they needed to be alert to the anger Jane engendered among suspects and witnesses to head off potential attacks. It was a plus if they could head off complaints and lawsuits as well.

**Rigsby and Cho**

The foam spilled over the lip as the server set down their mugs. Rigsby and Cho watched the baseball game, then found a table and ordered burgers. It was Friday night and Rigsby had been cleared for field work by the IAU and the shrink.

"To being cleared.' Cho raised his beer.

"To being cleared," Rigsby echoed.

They watched the sports special and made serious inroads into their burgers before talking again.

"Cho, why did Lisbon choose us?"

Cho gave him a long-suffering glance.

Rigsby tried again. "They called us a freak show."

"Who?"

"The agents on 6."

"The nameless, faceless agents whose gossip you overheard and are now wasting energy worrying over." Cho let his irritation show.

Rigsby took a swig of beer. "Yeah, yeah. Don't even know who they are so why should I care what they think."

"You said it."

"But they made a serious point."

Cho set down his burger and waited.

"Look. I drag around my father's record–"

"–_His_ record, not yours."

"–Still. It's there. People know it and it matters."

"And?"

"You were in a gang." Cho's lips twitched but he kept silent. "And Jane – hell, Jane's past is a train wreck that was publicized over the whole state."

"There a point?"

"Why'd Lisbon ignore all that? She could'a had guys without the baggage."

Cho sipped his beer and leaned back. After a moment. "You really don't get it?"

"I wouldn't ask otherwise," Rigsby said, voice low. He was embarrassed about his past – his present, too, never knowing the next time his father's crimes would surface and screw up his life. He was embarrassed to have to ask Cho. But even more he needed to know, needed to understand. _How the hell doesn't this stuff bother Cho?_

"Lisbon chose us _because_ of our past."

Rigsby coughed as some beer went down the wrong way in his surprise. "How–" he choked out, "how is that?"

"Look. I worked with her in SFPD. She made a few comments about clueless white bread boys."

"Huh?"

"The guys with perfect families, perfect lives, raised in nice suburban middle class homes where a parking ticket is a big deal. She didn't want guys like that on her team."

"So she sees our backgrounds ... as a plus?"

"Yeah."

"And Jane?"

"Even more so."

"I mean, his family's murder was horrible and he used to be a fake psychic. But he looks and sounds like money."

"Where do you pick up reading people, pickpocketing, card tricks, magic?" Cho added carefully, "We may not know what it is, but he's gotta have a past, too."

"Hadn't thought of it that way. But, yeah, he's been around. He's less likely to be conned than anyone I've ever met."

Cho exhaled noisily. "No more agonizing over ragging by people you don't even know."

"Thanks." Rigsby raised what was left of his beer. "To experience."

"Experience."


	16. Chapter 16 - Trust

**Chapter 16: Trust**

**Lisbon's Team**

The case promised trouble from the start. Lisbon's team watched curiously as she ended a call, took notepad and pen and climbed the helical staircase to the next floor. Meeting with Minelli, obviously.

"Case," hazarded Rigsby. "Or Jane complaint." He glanced at Jane, who lazily smirked from his couch.

Jane spread his hands to emphasize his innocence. "Not me. Reading cold cases since we solved the Gonzales murder."

Rigsby looked to Cho, who grunted without looking up. "Find out soon enough."

Soon enough was five minutes later when Lisbon came down the staircase, stomping on the treads with excessive force.

"Heads up, guys. Good news is we got a case. Bad news is it's politically sensitive." Rigsby groaned. Cho looked fractionally more grim. Jane smiled. Rigsby and Cho started clearing their desks. Jane rose and stacked the cold case files he'd been reading on his desk.

She continued, "US Congressman's wife was apparently kidnapped last night. Reported it when he got up and found her missing this morning."

"Didn't notice his wife failed to come home?" Jane asked pointedly.

"Guess we'll find out."

Cho, "Who?"

"Congressman Lamar Jefferson."

"Kidnapping but no murder yet?" asked Rigsby. "Local PD can't handle it?"

Lisbon couldn't manage to mask her disgust. "Political. Jefferson is a close ally of the governor. –Get a move on! We need to be outta here in ten minutes to catch a flight." The four‑hundred miles was too far to drive, especially with the brass breathing down their necks.

**Tuesday, Pomona, CA**

The commuter flight was packed. The reality of mass air travel would grind away anyone's romanticized notions about flying. The only bright spot was the first class seating since that was all that was available. The guys enjoyed the perq, Lisbon regretted it. No matter how necessary, Lisbon resented the hit to her budget. _Not gonna sweat it. Brass can't complain after dragging the SCU into this for politics. _"Politics" was a four-letter word in law enforcement. They picked up a rental SUV and drove to Jefferson's home to meet up with the local PD.

They shared the little they knew about the man on the way there. Lamar Jacques Jefferson had kicked around California's political world for the past 20 years. He had relocated to new districts several times after starting out with in the state assembly for Sacramento. They vaguely recalled him being a state senator and later a US congressman. Each district he represented was poor and heavily minority. Well established in political circles, he reliably delivered votes for his party and so was an indispensable cog in the political machine. It was an election year. It occurred to everyone in the SCU how distracting a kidnapping (or worse) might be to Jefferson, which would underscore the governor's keen interest in getting the case solved. Cynicism was an occupational hazard.

They pulled through the gates and it was obvious Jefferson lived well, notwithstanding the economic vicissitudes of his district. Trees hid the large home from passing foot and vehicle traffic. Their expert eyes noted the elements of an impressive security system.

"I assume you're from the CBI?" asked a man in a suit as Lisbon's team exited their vehicle. Lisbon nodded so he introduced himself. "I'm Detective Robertson from the Pomona PD."

"Senior Agent Lisbon. Agents Cho and Rigsby. Consultant Patrick Jane," Lisbon introduced the members of her team. "What've we got?"

Robertson hauled out his notepad to be sure of the details. "Lamar Jefferson woke this morning and discovered his wife, Maria Hernandez Jefferson, didn't return from visiting relatives last night. He called it in at 7:25 a.m. today. Around the same time, uniformed police found a sedan abandoned along Route 57, apparently after an accident. Airbag deployed, blood on the steering wheel and door handle. Driver missing. Vehicle is registered to Congressman Jefferson, who said his wife was driving it last night."

"Where does suspicion of kidnapping come in?"

"The congressman told us there had been threats over the last six months." He handed Lisbon a plastic evidence bag containing two letter-sized sheets with typing on them. "Some threats were made by phone. Those recordings are stored at his congressional office in Ontario."

"Any idea of who? Or a reason for the threats?"

"The threats vaguely refer to a beef against Jefferson. Jefferson says he has no idea of who or why."

"Ransom note? Proof of life?"

"Not yet."

"So we're not sure what we've got. -Who requested the CBI take the case?"

"Not us, so must've been Jefferson. Politics." Lisbon nodded in sympathy. Robertson continued, "The scene of the accident is cordoned off till you release it. Our forensics guys already finished up. Report should be out first thing tomorrow." He handed her a note with the location of the presumed crime scene.

"Thanks. We'll take it from here. Can we can set up at the PD?" she asked, handing him her card and accepting his.

He nodded. "Talk to Sergeant Alvarez when you come in."

"Is Jefferson home now?"

"Uh-huh."

"Nice working with you, Detective," Lisbon added as an afterthought as she and the team started moving toward the front door. Robertson nodded, waved and walked toward his car.

A young black woman opened the door. Lisbon showed her badge and asked for Congressman Jefferson. She ushered them into the large, ornate foyer and motioned for them to stay without speaking. She walked down a hall and entered a room. They heard soft voices talking in a foreign language.

"CBI? You're finally here!" said the man as he approached. Lisbon couldn't reply for a moment, absolutely gobsmacked by the appearance of the devastatingly handsome black man. He was in his early 40's, tall and fit. With his mocha skin tone, refined features, clear gray eyes, and closely trimmed black hair set off with silver at the temples, he looked like the stereotype of a movie star or fashion model. Her team exchanged glances, surprised at her reaction and that she reacted at all. He frowned and extended his hand, "I'm forgetting my manners. I'm Congressman Jefferson. I appreciate your prompt arrival."

Lisbon regained her poise. "I'm Senior Agent Lisbon with the CBI. These are agents Cho and Rigsby and Consultant Patrick Jane. We're here to help locate your wife," she explained diplomatically.

"I realized she never returned last night when I woke. I desperately hope you can find my Maria."

"We need to go over everything you know, even if you already told the local police. Is there a place we can talk?"

He led them down the hall into a large study. The woman who had opened the door was watching a young boy – age four? – in one corner. The boy had a shock of straight black hair, warm brown eyes, and looked nothing like the congressman. The three agents sat on a couch across from Jefferson while he spoke, covering much the same information Detective Robertson had relayed. Jane remained standing and silent, gradually making his way around the room while looking closely at photographs, book titles, keepsakes and more. As he played, the boy started making noise as he pretended to drive his toy cars and trucks. After a few minutes, Jefferson said something to the nanny in a foreign language, projecting his voice without raising it. Jane watched her shepherd the boy out of the room. Jane had disappeared by the time they completed the interview. Rigsby found him in the kitchen with the nanny and child. Jane finished his tea and hurried after Rigsby. They left for the scene of the presumed kidnapping.

Cho stood on the shoulder of Route 57 and looked around. Lisbon, Rigsby and Jane were down the slope looking over the car. Cho jogged back to their SUV to fetch binoculars from the equipment bag and returned to the shoulder. He studied the pavement when there were breaks in traffic. He startled when Jane tapped his shoulder and asked to borrow the glasses.

"Hmm. You see what I see?" the consultant asked, surveying the pavement.

"More what I _don't_ see," Cho responded.

"Exactly," Jane muttered.

"Got something?" called Lisbon from the Lexus.

"Maybe," the agent responded. When Lisbon got there he explained. "No skid marks."

"Isn't that interesting."

"Not an accident?" Rigsby suggested, stopping at her side.

Jane responded. "The car makes it look like one. Either she fell asleep and drifted off the road-"

"–or she voluntarily stopped," Cho supplied, "and the 'accident' was staged."

Rigsby offered hopefully, "This make as the new event data recorders. That should at least give us speed and deceleration."

Jane mused, "That car's new. Jefferson's security conscious. Interesting he didn't subscribe to a satellite tracking service like 'On-Star.'"

Cho, "Especially if there were threats."

Turning to another thought, Lisbon asked, "If it were an accident, why would she be missing?" She dug her cell from a pocket and dialed Robertson. "Detective, Agent Lisbon. Did you have uniforms look for Marie Jefferson, in case she wandered off afterward? ... Okay. Thanks." She turned to her team. "Uniforms searched but didn't find her. Back to the kidnapping theory."

"Too bad there aren't any tracks," Jane said, looking at the hard, dusty ground.

"Forensics will have checked the black box data, so we should know tomorrow. Let's find our hotel and get dinner," Lisbon ordered.

**Wednesday, Ontario, CA**

The SCU spent a few hours before the start of the regular work day at the Pomona PD doing background research. The internet informed them Jefferson had grown up poor in a bad part of Sacramento. Gifted intellectually and politically, he was awarded full scholarships to college and graduate school. He ran for his first political office at 25 and was elected assemblyman for the Sacramento district. He married Kennisha Jones and they had two children before they divorced after eight years of marriage. Kennisha received custody of the children. When the districts were redrawn, he was redistricted out of office. He relocated to Long Beach and married Sakiya Nagasaki, and later successfully ran for office in the California senate. They had no children and divorced after six years. He moved to Pomona and married Maria Hernandez. They had no children during the four years of their marriage, although he became a step father to her infant, Gabriel. He was elected US Representative for the Pomona district six months later.

Being much younger than her husband, Maria Jefferson's background was simpler. She grew up in Pomona, one of five children in a blue collar family. She had one son from a brief relationship that ended when he joined the military. Then Jefferson met and married her six months later in a whirlwind romance. After Jefferson was elected as US Representative for the district, she settled into life as a mother and congressman's wife. Her public activities focused on volunteer work. Cho just started researching the congressman's financial situation when Lisbon told them to break from the research to start the day's interviews. Cho and Rigsby would interview Congressman Jefferson's office staff while Lisbon and Jane went to meet with Maria's relatives.

Maria Hernandez's parents were was shocked and subdued at news of the accident and their missing daughter.

"She came for a visit, just to talk. She left here around midnight. The nanny would have put Gabriel to bed."

Jane interjected, "Is there a reason Maria wouldn't bring her son when visiting you?"

"Oh," replied Mrs. Hernandez, "she knew she would be out late and didn't want to keep him up. And it's so hard keeping up with Gabriel, her being pregnant and all."

Lisbon asked, "Your daughter wa- _is_ pregnant?"

"Yes, seven months. It's a boy," Mr. Hernandez replied proudly.

They talked a while longer, but little new came to light. Her family didn't know anyone who would want to hurt their daughter. The four years of marriage to Jefferson were generally good. She had gotten used to the public attention, politics, and campaigning with her husband, though she often stayed in California while he was in D.C. The Hernandez family was a little surprised the marriage was working out so well since Jefferson was nearly 40 when he married the 25-year-old Maria, but they were grateful it was. They hadn't noticed notice anything unusual recently.

Lisbon gave them her card, "Please call us if you think of anything that might be relevant."

"And you'll tell us when you find something out?"

"As soon as possible."

"Do – do you think she's all right?"

Lisbon's chest constricted at the inevitable question. Unwilling to offer false hope, "We just don't know, Mrs. Hernandez. We'll do our best." She turned to leave.

Jane turned back. "Oh, just one more thing. Jefferson's nanny. What can you tell us?"

Flustered at the change of topic, "Uh, not much. Her name is Cherise and she's their au pair. Lamar gets a new girl every two years under some kind of international good will program. Can't say much because she only speaks French."

"Does Maria speak French?"

"No, no. Only Lamar. French family roots."

Jane thanked her, smiled, and left to catch up with Lisbon who was waiting for him.

Out of the family's hearing, Lisbon asked, "You think the nanny had something to do with this?"

Jane shrugged. "Not necessarily. Just curious."

Lisbon's cell phone started ringing before they pulled away.

Glancing at the caller's ID, "What's up, Cho?"

"Jefferson got a ransom note."

"Anything from the interviews?"

"Not much. Only a few left to go, but nothing's turned up so far."

"Be there in 15. Make sure he doesn't do anything till then."

"Right."

**Jefferson's Office, Ontario, CA**

Cho and Rigsby met Lisbon and Jane in the main room of Jefferson's office suite. They stood off to the side out of hearing of the staff sitting at desks scattered around the large room.

"Where's the note?" Lisbon asked, then looked around, "And where's Jefferson?"

"Here," Cho said handing her the note enclosed in an evidence bag. "It arrived by mail, postmarked in LA. While you were getting here, Jefferson went ahead with a meeting. Said he couldn't get out of it," he added, nodding at the closed door to an office. "Should be done in a few minutes."

Jane looked over her shoulder as she read. "Demand for $50,000 to 'protect your wife's well-being.' More instructions to follow in–" she glanced at her watch, "–an hour." She closely examined the letter and envelope but, unsurprisingly, there was nothing distinctive. She grumbled, "Great. We know the kidnapper is local. Big whup." She looked up. "Are we set up to record the call, get a trace?"

"In that office," Cho indicated by tilting his head.

She inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly. "Standard protocol. No discussion of ransom till we have proof of life. We'll use the ransom pick-up to set a trap for the perps. Damn. Wish we had more to go on." She glanced at each team member. "Any better ideas?" Cho and Rigsby shook their heads.

Jane commented, "No. But it _is_ interesting that the note didn't even include the standard warning not to talk to police."

"Which tells us what?"

Jane spread his hands and shook his head. "Don't know. Maybe they thought it obvious that he'd call in the police. Or, the kidnapper could be watching Jefferson and knows law enforcement already _is_ involved."

Lisbon nodded and thought, _Yeah, Mr. Obvious. But that doesn't give us anything we can work with._ She didn't voice the sour thought. "Brief me while we wait for Jefferson."

Jefferson had 14 full time personal staff, ten local and four in DC. The agents interviewed the people based in California and read through a file of threats that had been made against Jefferson during his four years as a US representative. The seriousness of the threats seemed to increase over the last five or six months. The most serious sounding ones were all anonymous. Some were similar enough to have come from the same person, but they couldn't be sure. The local PD had dusted them for prints when they first came in, but the only prints were from Jefferson and the staff members who had opened the letters.

"Dead end on the threats then?"

"Yeah," answered Rigsby.

"Anyone on staff seem suspicious?"

"No. Seven have alibis for last night. Cynthia Lane, Darrel Evans, and Peter Crandell don't," reported Cho. "No hint of any motive among any of them. Maria Jefferson was well liked by the staff."

Jane interjected, "Who's paid the most on his staff – all 14 of them?"

Rigsby scanned a printout listing staff names, contact information, function, salary, and tenure that the office administrator had provided. Scanning the sheet, Rigsby answered, "Peter Crandell lawyer. He's based in D.C."

"Hm. Who's next?

"Rodney Stanton. Advance man." Without being obvious, Rigsby indicated a nondescript man in his late 40's working at a desk across the room. Jane nodded then strolled around, observing everyone. He nodded, smiled engagingly, and explained he was with the CBI as people looked up.

The office door opened a few minutes later. An aide to one of California's US Senators exited followed by Jefferson. Jefferson shook his hand.

"Don, thanks for coming here. You'll understand if everything's on hold till they can rescue my wife. I – I can't think about anything else till then."

"Of course, Lamar. God, I hope everything works out all right. I look forward to giving her a hug and feeling that baby kick." Jefferson managed a sad smile and escorted him to the door.

"Agent Lisbon. I'm relieved you're here," Jefferson said, turning his attention to the CBI team.

"Let's talk in the office where the equipment is set up," she suggested, wanting to prepare for the call as quickly as possible.

"How do we handle this, Agent? I don't care about the money – just get my wife back unharmed."

Lisbon looked down a moment. "I will do everything possible to make that happen, but there are no guarantees. Our best hope is to use the ransom money as bait to catch the kidnapper. Then interrogate him to lead us to your wife." She held up a hand as he was about to comment, "But the first step is to ask for proof of life when he calls. If he cannot show that she is alive, then there is no reason to negotiate and, I'm sorry, a high likelihood she is no longer alive."

Jefferson drew in a deep breath and gripped the desk edge tightly. "Tell me what to do. Anything!"

Lisbon walked him through the phone call. Jefferson would do the talking unless it became clear that the kidnappers knew law enforcement was already involved. Jefferson said it would take a day to come up with the ransom money. Everyone was quiet for a moment.

Jane spoke into the silence, "Fifty thousand seems like a rather modest ransom demand."

Startled, Jefferson frowned and got to his feet, towering over the consultant. "You're making light of my wife's kidnapping?" He looked at Lisbon. "Is this how the CBI responds to serious crime?"

Flushing red in embarrassment and anger, "No, sir. If you'll excuse us –" She nodded to the door.

Jaw clenched and stone faced, Jefferson said icily, "Gladly."

Rigsby and Cho shrank back against the wall, wishing they were anywhere else. Lisbon turned to Jane. Furious, "What the hell was _that_? You can't control yourself when the man's wife is kidnapped, maybe dead?"

"–But–"

"How _dare_ you? Just because politics is involved is _not_ an excuse to bait him. Or maybe you just resent his success in general. You're off the case."

Jane's face was utterly expressionless. "If that's all, I'll leave," he said. He turned on his heel and left, not waiting for a reply.

Lisbon closed her eyes, reining in her emotions by sheer determination. Without looking at them she said, "Make sure the equipment's ready to go. I'll give the PD a heads up about the plan and request back-up to monitor the site." She left, closing the door a little too hard.

Rigsby and Cho looked at each other.

"Damn."

"There's gotta be more to it," said Rigsby.

"Why?

"You see Jane's face?"

"No."

"Jane looked, um, betrayed. Angry. Just for a second."

"_Jane_?" Cho stood still a moment in thought. "That only makes sense if he was messing with Jefferson for a legitimate reason."

"You think?"

"I hope," Cho said, unhappy about conflict in the team. Turning to the equipment, "Can't fix that now. Let's make sure this part goes right."

The call was received on schedule. The kidnappers e-mailed a photo of Maria Jefferson holding a daily newspaper for proof of life. Jefferson agreed to drop off the ransom money as directed in return for his wife's safe return. Lisbon arranged a stakeout of the drop point with the PD.

No one on the team saw Jane for the rest of the day.


End file.
